A Night In Purgatory
by idreamofdean
Summary: When a freak wavelength zaps Dean from Purgatory to a post-Apocalyptic reality, he must ally himself with some familiar faces- plus a few, unexpected ones- in order to get back to his world. There's just one problem: everyone thinks he's Michael, and Castiel has been tagging souls on Crowley's behalf for years. Set prior to season eight. Destiel -COMPLETE-
1. Chapter 1

_All characters are owned by the CW and the wonderful team of writers/creators behind the show. _

Purgatory was hot, filthy and soaked in blood. Dean Winchester knew this was a pretty good description not just for himself, but the ground too. Except he found himself not particularly caring about it that much as he cleared a section of rotted leaves in front of an equally rotted tree. While he might have lost the ability to care about cleanliness, he hadn't been able to shake fatigue. It was as constant as the blade in his hand, the stiffness in his arm and shoulder from having to behead monster after monster, the aches in his legs when he had been forced to outrun them.

Damn he was tired.

He'd resisted sleeping at first; not only was it stupid to let your guard down in this place, it was also the last thing he wanted to do. Just about the only thing strong enough to overcome his exhaustion was his singular desire to find Castiel. Cas, whom he had watched transform from trusted friend to questionable enemy to arrogant god, only to ultimately sink into the depths of that reservoir after Leviathan took over his body. When they had been reunited at last, and they had overcome Cas's reluctance to engage in a conflict he had begun, Dean dared believe it was a new beginning. They could move past the mistakes, the lies, the secrecy.

Only Cas was gone again. Whether he had been chased off by a monster or not did not concern Dean. He just wanted to find him. Needed to find him. That was why he had fought off sleep, off hunger, off fear. None of it mattered.

Benny, on the other hand, had succeeded in redirecting Dean's thoughts with one, simple observation.

"You ain't gonna find the angel if you die from exhaustion, brother."

Dean grunted as he laid on the patch of hard ground. He could see the vampire standing guard a short distance away, blade at his shoulder, hand in his pocket. He tapped the weapon against his shoulder for some moments, as if in tune to a song, then glanced over his shoulder.

"Go on now, Dean. I'm watching out for you."

_"I'll watch over you."_

That familiar, painful twisting in his chest surfaced, and Dean rolled onto his side, his back to Benny. He brought his blade to his chest, felt the grooves of the handle dig into his hand. For several long moments he stared into the darkness, a muscle working in his cheek.

"You watching over me now, Cas?" he began, very softly. "Because if you are, do me a favor and get your ass down here."

Silence.

He drew in a breath, exhaled slowly. His throat tightened.

"Cas," he said again, his voice thick with emotion. "I need to know that you're alive. Please..."

Silence, and disappointment, followed this heartfelt plea.

Dean bowed his head, his hands tightening on the hilt. It had been like this every night since he got to this place. But despite his unanswered prayers, he refused to give up on the angel. So until Cas showed up one of these nights or Dean came across his body during his search, he'd keep praying. It was his only solace.

Sighing, Dean closed his eyes; already he could feel his exhaustion catching up to him. Just as he was about to fall asleep, a flash forced his eyes open. The instant he saw a faint shimmering in the distance he sat upright, his body tensing. He knew that light. Benny had explained that when two particularly powerful monsters clashed and died, the energy they released was like a shock wave cutting through the whole place. It was also very much like the wave Dick Roman gave off just before he exploded.

Seeing it now, the speed of the wave, Dean wanted to get as far from it as possible.

However, the moment he shot to his feet, he was swallowed by its glow. There was a burst of white brilliance, stinging his face and eyes, and everything went black.

* * *

Dean let out a surprised cry as he was dropped to the ground. Disoriented and still somewhat blinded from the flash, he staggered to his feet and took a step, only to find himself rolling down an incline. Rocks, twigs and leaves were kicked up in his wake, settling around him as he came to a stop. Dizzy now, and more than a little nauseated, he pushed himself to his hands and knees. It was then he heard something moving in the brush and froze.

Slowly, one wary eye on the line of bushes ahead of him, Dean took up the blade that had fallen nearby. He had no idea if that wavelength sent him clear across Purgatory or not, and he was fairly certain whatever was headed his way did.

A twig snapped, followed by the rustle of leaves. Dean drew in a breath, exhaled. The footsteps were close now. The moment he saw a shadowed figure emerge from the bushes he sprang into action.

The figure gave a startled exclamation as Dean pinned him to a tree and brought the blade to his throat. "Talk," he threatened in a low voice. "Or I start cutting. Understand?"

There was a moment's pause before the monster said, in rather nonchalant tones: "Hey, Dean."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Who the hell are you?"

"That's what I'd like to know," declared another voice behind him.

When Dean glanced over his shoulder he was treated to the sight of a double barreled shotgun. He didn't see who was pointing it at him, for the next instant he saw stars. He was already out by the time he hit the ground.

* * *

As soon as Dean collapsed, his former captive leaned away from the tree to peer down at the unconscious body, head titled, hand rubbing at his chin before he looked up at his savior.

"Hey, Rufus."

"What the hell's the matter with you, Garth?" Rufus demanded irritably. "You were supposed to keep a look out for Sam."

"I was." Garth reached into his pocket to withdraw a small plastic baggie. Candy wrappers and a receipt tumbled free. "He said he'd call me and well...he hasn't yet."

Rufus scowled as Garth lit up the joint he took from the bag. "I don't know what the hell Bobby was thinking by sending _you_ of all people out here."

Garth gave him a dead stare, then smiled. "Because I'm awesome," he answered with a little chuckle and took a drag.

Rufus rolled his eyes, in no mood to discuss Garth's obvious attachment to his drugs, or Bobby's obviously ill-placed judgment on job assignments. He turned his attention to Dean Winchester's body, nudged his shoulder with the toe of his boot. "Looks like hell," he observed. "So much for them taking care of him, huh? I'll bring him back to base. You stay out here and...do whatever the hell it is that makes you good at this," he remarked as Garth settled onto the ground, cross-legged, and leaned against the tree.

The skinny hunter saluted him, smiled as smoke filtered from his nostrils. "You got it."

Shaking his head, Rufus shoved his gun into the holster at his back, grabbed hold of Dean's arm and leg before throwing him over his shoulders. He grunted from the strain and started for his truck, all the while wondering how he was going to explain that the man responsible for stopping the Apocalypse suddenly reappeared, and how they'd prevent the angels from smiting them all.

* * *

Sound and sense made a slow return, bringing with it a musty scent. Dean grimaced, forced his eyes open. The first thing he noticed he was in a basement; the next, he was tied to a chair. Immediately he started pulling at the ropes, teeth clenching in frustration.

"Hey!" he shouted, the echo of his voice bouncing off the walls. As it faded he heard the click of a door unlocking and looked toward the stairwell. "I see you up there," he went on, still pulling at his bonds. "Because I'm giving you exactly ten seconds to untie me before I make you regret it."

The figure descended the stairs, a slow, careful plod. Dean continued to twist his hands this way and that, wincing at feeling the ropes cut into him. The single overhead light caught on the edge of a silver blade, giving Dean pause.

He knew what kind of blade that was.

"So you think you can just pop back here after all this time," the man began, his voice a low but familiar growl.

All attempts at escape ceased. Dean felt his throat go dry, and he swallowed. Disbelief warred with the survival instinct that had sustained him in Purgatory.

"...Bobby? Is that you?"

Bobby stepped off the bottom stair, an angel blade in hand. "Oh so you remember who I am. I'm touched," came the drawling retort. "Been waiting a long time to see _you _again, Michael. Especially after that stunt you pulled."

"Michael? Stunt?" Dean repeated, incredulous. "What the hell are you talking about? Where's-"

His words were lost in a surprised cry when Bobby suddenly slashed across his forearm with the angel blade. "Dammit, Bobby!" he rasped angrily. Blood splattered onto the floor. "What's gotten into you? It's me! Dean!"

"Sure it is," Bobby replied, and slashed him again. "You see," he went on after Dean's pained grunt died away. "I know Dean's dead cause you killed him, you son of a bitch. I'm going to pay you back for that. Oh, and don't even think about zapping out of here. I've got this place locked down against your kind. So what do you say we get started?"

Dean met Bobby's eyes, saw the blood lust beneath the contempt. He knew that look. He'd seen it during hunts, and when Bobby had gone vengeful. Whatever this place was, dream, nightmare, another world, Dean wasn't about to see it end this way.

His foot shot out, kicked the blade from Bobby's hands just as he advanced. While the older man recoiled from the unexpected blow, Dean pulled free from his bonds and shot to his feet. The chair tipped over from the violence behind his movement. At glimpsing a knife on the cluttered table at his elbow he snatched it up, had it pointed at Bobby.

In response he swiftly withdrew a Zippo, had it lit and threw it on the ground. In seconds Dean found himself surrounded by a ring of fire. "You've got to be kidding me," he muttered, then cast a disbelieving glance Bobby's way. The smug gleam in his eye faded once Dean jumped over the flames.

Bobby stood there, slack-jawed. "What the hell?"

"Listen to me," Dean growled. "I don't know why you think I'm Michael but I sure as hell didn't say yes to him! He got a hold of Adam and used him for the big showdown. You know, you were there! Sam jumped into the hole with Michael." He stopped short, for Bobby's eyes just got wider and wider. Dean blew out a breath, and he lowered the knife.

"You have no clue what I'm talking about, do you?"

Bobby said nothing for some moments. When he spoke again it was with a note of incredulity. "You're saying you're not Michael."

"Yes."

"And that you don't know what's happened since the Apocalypse?"

"Yes!" Dean was exasperated now.

Slowly, Bobby moved closer to him. When he suddenly splashed holy water into his face Dean staggered back with a cry of, "Dammit! I'm not a demon! Or a shifter!" he added, taking the knife in hand- silver- and slicing his arm. He lifted his gaze to Bobby's, challenging him.

Long moments passed. Dean's grip tightened on the knife handle, but he did not raise it. There was something in Bobby's eyes that stilled his movements, even though everything in him said things around here weren't right. But when the older hunter pulled him into a fierce embrace, heedless of the knife, all Dean's reservations fled. It was in this instant that he realized just how much he missed this cranky old drunk, and held fast to him.

Bobby was laughing as he drew back, his hands on Dean's shoulders. "By God, boy, it's good to see you again!" He took in Dean's ragged appearance and grimaced. "What the hell happened to you? You look like you've been in a war zone."

"That's one way of putting it," Dean replied, tossing the knife onto the table. He nodded his thanks when Bobby presented him with a cloth to wipe at his wounds. "What's going on here, Bobby? Where's Sam?"

"Sam's out on a job. We're waiting to hear back from him."

Before Dean could question him further the door was wrenched open, and a gruff, familiar voice called out, "Bobby! Garth just called me. He's heard from Sam and the angel. We're in."

At this Dean quickly looked over at Bobby. He'd save reflecting on Rufus also being alive for later. There were more important things to worry about. There was also the chance that when he found Cas, they could figure out where the hell they were. He still needed to get back to Benny, too.

"Sam's with him? Where?"

Rufus, having appeared at the bottom of the steps, checked at the sight of Dean. "You didn't kill him yet? Aw, hell, Bobby. I knew I should have done it."

"Oh shut up, Rufus," Bobby said, waving his concerns off. "He's not Michael. It's my boy, and you're gonna take him to my other boy. He could use the backup."

Rufus didn't look at all pleased to be pressed into service as chaperone. "You better be right about this, Bobby. Bringing Dean Winchester to Purgatory might not be the best idea."

"Purgatory?" Dean echoed, incredulous. He shot Bobby a sharp glance. "What are you talking about? Bobby, what's happened to Sam? What's he doing in Purgatory?"

The look Rufus and Bobby exchanged only served to aggravate Dean further. He could feel his temper rising, bit it back. "Who sent my brother to that place, and why?" he demanded in a low growl.

Bobby turned to Dean. "For the- wait. Not _that _Purgatory, ya idjit," he explained, scowling. "Crowley's place."

It was Dean's turn to be puzzled. "Wait wait wait. _Crowley's_ got a place called Purgatory?"

Rufus smiled, looking thoroughly amused. "Better give the man a drink, Bobby. He's about to find out he's not in Kansas anymore."


	2. Chapter 2

The few beers Dean had knocked back during the ride hadn't nearly been enough to prepare him for what he was looking at now.

A large, wide building rose up just beyond the treeline, a stone staircase leading from a curving driveway to the double doors. Cars moved in a steady stream along the entrance, valets in black suits opening doors to reveal finely dressed men and women. Music could be heard echoing from within, as well as titters of laughter. Dean lowered the binoculars, his brows nearly at his hairline. It was like some haunted house for rich, crazy people- and it had Crowley all over it.

"Something, isn't it?" Rufus remarked casually, a beer in hand. He took a healthy swig. "Three years ago this was a landfill, or a cemetery- hell I don't know anymore. But then Crowley came in and turned it into the most happening place anywhere."

Dean peered through the binoculars again. He watched a group of people pass through the doors, his eyes narrowing at seeing the bouncers were demons. They didn't even bother hiding their black eyes. "And you haven't torched this place yet?"

"Ain't that easy, Dean," Rufus answered. "Look, I don't know where those angels were keeping you all this time, but the hunting business changed after the Apocalypse. It's not about killing them anymore. Now we have to deal with them all _civil _like." Rufus's tone was dismissive.

"What, you mean like protection money?"

"Some parts of the country, yeah. Here it's different. I think we're supposed to take the demons out to dinner."

Dean shook his head and leaned back in the seat. "None of this is right," he stated. "How come the Earth isn't a graveyard? Michael and Lucifer's big duel was supposed to screw us all over. You know, death, destruction, hellfire. Biblical crap."

"I don't know anything about Biblical crap, but I'd say we got screwed by the Apocalypse anyway." The phone in his pocket rang, and Rufus put it to his ear. "Yep. All right. Who me? I'm not going in there. Don't worry, I got a man. He's gonna meet you round the back. What? No, I don't have any potato chips. No, I'm not getting any. Right, see you later." Rufus hung up with a muttered curse. "Damn junkie. I don't know how the hell he hasn't gotten killed yet. All right, listen up," he said, turning to Dean. "Garth is waiting for you by the back door. He'll tell you where to meet up with Sam and the angel."

"And then what?" Dean asked, managing to keep his voice steady even as his pulse quickened with anticipation.

"And then you talk about things? I don't know," Rufus complained irritably. "The whole thing was Sam's idea. He'll let you know. Oh and Dean," he added just as Dean opened the door. When he turned he automatically caught the wad of cash thrown his way.

"Do I even wanna ask what this is for?"

Rufus smiled. "Crowley's is the only place where you can buy good liquor. Bring me back a few bottles, if you would."

Dean favored him with a slight, unamused smile, and took his leave.

He crept low along the bushes as he made his way closer to the building. A sign was erected at the far end of the driveway, the word _Purgatory _engraved in fancy script. Dean rolled his eyes, yet even he couldn't deny the sense of irony to be had in naming what basically amounted to a creepy gentleman's club after the place. He bet it went over real well with the guys upstairs, too. Though why they didn't torch it either was something that didn't sit right with Dean. Then again, nothing from Heaven or Hell had ever been on his good side, with one very obvious exception.

As he looked over the columned facade Dean shook his head.

_Sam, what are you and Cas up to in this place?_

The bushes gave way for hedges, allowing Dean to slip past the front without being seen. The hedges circled the perimeter, opening up into a courtyard centered around a fountain. And there, seated at the fountain's edge, his feet dangling in the water, lit cigarette in hand, was Garth. He glanced over at Dean, squinted so his whole face looked pinched before a broad smile appeared.

"Hey, Dean. Wow, you don't look happy at all," he observed. "Bad day?"

Now that Dean stood close to him, he got a nice healthy whiff of marijuana. "I've had better," he answered, waving the smoke away. He took in Garth's bloodshot eyes and lazy smile. "Damn. You're stoned out of your mind."

Garth took another drag, exhaled and made a little sound that was part hiccup, part squeak. "No," he replied. "I'm relaxed. But you...you're not very relaxed, are you, Dean? Want a hit? You look like you could use one."

"Yeah, right, maybe later. So where's Sam? Rufus said you'd tell me where to find him."

"He's inside," Garth answered, gesturing toward the door across the way.

Dean noted the _Employees Only _sign on it and scowled. "Where inside?"

Garth gave a little shrug. "I dunno." He paused for a moment, then looked over at Dean and said in all seriousness: "Do you have any potato chips?"

It took Dean's mind a second to catch up with his retort. "You're sitting outside Crowley's crazy hunter's lodge, surrounded by every demon and monster within ten miles, acting as _my _brother's back up while stoned out of your _mind,_ and you ask me about goddamn potato chips?"

Garth's expression remained bland in the face of Dean's angry words. "So you don't have any," he said at last. Before Dean could do much more than stare he shrugged and leaned back. "That's cool. I can wait till we get home."

Dean thrust a finger at Garth, wanting so very much to say something to him before he thought better of it. Giving the other hunter a tight smile, he strode for the door, looked this way and that out of habit. At seeing a small piece of wood had kept it discreetly pried open Dean nudged it out of the way and slid inside. He closed the heavy door as gently as he could.

The semi-darkened hallway brought him past what looked like storage rooms. Props, costume chests and free-standing wardrobe racks were scattered all over. After ascending a small flight of stairs Dean entered another hall, this one more brightly lit. A staircase stood straight ahead, a curtained doorway just beyond it. At hearing voices Dean ducked into a side room, hand tensing into a fist as he waited for the people to pass by. Once they had he resumed his trek, only to glimpse a familiar silhouette descending the stairs.

Dean felt his heart leap into his throat.

_Cas._

Suddenly it didn't matter that he was in some off-the-wall nightclub owned by the King of Hell. All that mattered was getting to Cas so they both could get the hell out of here. It never even occurred to him that Cas could have been affected by this place like everyone else.

Castiel headed for the curtained doorway and passed through in no particular hurry; Dean wasted no time in following him. However, the instant he set foot outside he could do nothing but balk.

First of all the place was enormous. Even with the crowd it looked like it could hold a lot more people. The upper floors were circular, like an old style theater complete with box seats. One section of the floor was populated by billiards tables and slot machines, while another served as a dance floor. Further toward the back he heard furious shouting and cheering, but what kept the crowd there entertained was a mystery.

Dean shook off his astonishment and quickly scanned the gathering for Cas. The angel's beige trench coat made spotting him easy.

"Cas!" he shouted, taking off after him. The crowd seemed to choose that moment to swarm together, forcing him to shoulder his way through. He kept his gaze fixed on Cas as he crossed the main floor and headed down an incline. As Dean finally managed to make his way there he saw a stage set up in the center. Seats were arranged around it like at one of those plays people liked to put on in parks. As his gaze went from the seats to the stage itself, he started at the sight that greeted him.

There, standing toward the right of the stage, flexing his neck and rolling his shoulders, was another Dean.

Dean was so slack-jawed by this bizarre scene that he nearly missed Sam appear behind the fake Dean. The two turned and gripped hands, fake Dean slapping Sam on the shoulder as he leaned in to say something to him. Cas now stood on the other side of the stage, but he didn't go greet Sam or the fake Dean. In fact, he looked at the crowd with an empty, distant stare, like he had no interest in what was going on. He rubbed his left wrist, as if it bothered him. When the others drifted behind the curtain, he was the last to go.

Hushed whispers and the sense that people were watching him drew Dean's attention. Deciding it was better to watch this odd play from a hiding place, he quickly threaded his way through the crowd of people taking their seats until reaching a shadowed doorway. Just in time too, for the lights started to dim. People were finding their seats on the upper tiers as well. When Dean glanced up he smirked, for Crowley himself was taking his ease in a comfy leather chair, impeccably dressed as always and with a glass in hand, his feet on an ottoman. A pair of demons stood to either side of him, one of which leaned over to whisper something to him. Crowley waved him off, smiled as he settled back.

_Smug son of a bitch, _Dean thought sourly, and turned his attention back to the stage.

As the last few people sat down there was a roll of drums before a disembodied voice announced the show was about to begin. What kind, Dean had no idea. He still couldn't get over the fact that his brother, Cas and a shifter was about to put on a damn play for Crowley of all people. Just what the hell was going on here?

Music sounded from the pit below just as Sam strode in from the left side of the stage. People hissed and booed. Shortly after Cas appeared, looked right at Sam and said in an overly dramatic tone:

"Stop right there, Lucifer!"

Sam- or, Lucifer, as it turned out- smiled like a bad guy from an old cartoon. "You're a fool to try and challenge _me._"

The audience tittered at the dramatic emphasis on the word. Dean pressed his hand to his brow in embarrassment.

_I'm in hell. I gotta be._

Samifer was purposely striding across the stage now. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't kill you right here and now."

"I'll give you one," announced fake Dean as he walked past Cas. The audience cheered at his arrival. The real Dean grimaced at the superhero confidence in the other's every move.

_Yep. I'm in hell._

Samifer turned to fake Dean. "Michael," he greeted with that same villain smile.

"One shall stand, one shall fall," 'Michael' answered confidently

"Why throw your life away so recklessly, brother?" Samifer countered with a sneer.

To this, 'Michael' pointed at him, smiled broadly and replied, "That's a question you should ask yourself, Lucifer."

As the audience cheered while Samifer and 'Michael' squared off, Dean covered his face with his hands. Were they seriously ripping off the animated Transformers movie?

"Love to be back in the real Purgatory fighting for my life," he muttered to himself.

By now Cas had taken his place beside 'Michael'. What followed next was the worst choreographed fight scene since the 60s _Batman _TV series. In the end, 'Michael' had Samifer on his knees. Cas lay on the ground, having been 'killed'.

"Do you yield, brother?" 'Michael' asked.

Samifer glowered at 'Michael', looking more like a kid about to have a temper tantrum than the destruction of humanity as they knew it, before he started to wail. The audience cheered as 'Michael' dragged Samifer off stage. The curtains dropped to a standing ovation.

Dean, unable to believe that anyone in this room found _that _entertaining, decided then and there that he'd get Cas and Sam and make a run for it- after he'd set this abomination on fire, that is.

Part of his plan had started to unfold, for Cas appeared from behind the stage. Dean tried to intercept him but the departing crowd made it difficult. Annoyed, he redirected his pace, ducking behind a line of columns supporting the upper level to enter a pathway that stretched the length of the room. As Dean hurried along, he glimpsed a crowd surrounding a cage set on a platform. They cheered, hooted and hollered at the two men beating each other senseless. When the larger of the two body slammed his opponent and stood upright to soak in the applause, Dean nearly ran into the wall.

_Benny? The hell...?_

As odd as this was (then again, _everything_ about this place was odd) Dean continued down the path after Cas. They could sort all this out together.

Castiel had passed through a doorway Dean nearly missed in his rush to get to the angel. Managing to stick his foot out to catch the heavy door before it closed, he slipped inside, softly closed it behind him and started up the stairs. Music combined with crowd noise made calling out to Cas pointless, so he kept at a steady clip behind him. When Cas reached the top landing and entered a room, Dean followed a few moments later.

"Cas? Cas!" he called, stepping further into what looked like a cross between a posh hotel room and dressing room. How the hell did he move so fast? He had been _right _behind him!

And then, very suddenly, he found himself face to face with the angel.

For a moment they simply stared at each other. Dean could feel his breath catch, as it always did, whenever he was this close to Cas. Cas, as usual, studied him in that quiet, thoughtful way of his that, sometimes, left Dean wondering what it was about himself that fascinated the angel like that. As Cas's gaze bore into him, Dean swallowed past the lump in his throat. It wasn't until this instant that he realized how deeply he missed Cas, how he had devoted his every waking moment to finding him. He was torn between the want to speak and the want to hold fast to him.

Cas's quiet contemplation abruptly turned ferocious, and in seconds he had Dean slammed against the wall. He let out a surprised cry, too shocked to feel the pain reverberating through him, the steely grip of Cas's hands at his shoulders. Flashbacks of their ugly encounter in the alley haunted him.

"Cas, what the hell's the matter with you?" Dean demanded, grabbing hold of Cas's wrists.

He only shoved him against the wall, harder. "Me," he said, quietly but with a sharp sting in the word. He leaned in close, teeth bared. There was no warmth in the angel's voice or face. He was as cold and hard as any statue. "You want to know what's wrong with me, after all that's happened. After what you did. After how many times I tried to talk to you. And now you're here, when I am _this. _How dare you?"

Dean opened his mouth to reply, to protest, anything, but no words came. He found he could only stare, blankly, into the angel's smoldering eyes. The hurt, the anger, beneath Cas's harsh words resonated in him. While this entire world had been turned upside down, the one thing that he couldn't ignore was his hurting someone he cared for.

"Cas...I...I'm sorry," Dean replied softly, thought nothing of what he was apologizing for.

Cas glared up at Dean for some long moments, as if he were questioning the sincerity of his words. But then the cold mask fell away, revealing great relief tempered by happiness, and he clasped Dean to him. Taken aback by the show of affection, Dean couldn't summon the strength to return the hug. He just stood there, as awkward as a boy and his crush, while Cas squeezed the very life out of him.

"Um. Cas..." he managed, then coughed when Cas's hand roamed down his back to rest at his waist. "Cas," he said again, a little louder this time.

Cas stood with his face pressed against Dean's shoulder, the hand at his waist now sliding beneath his jacket. The instant he registered Cas's fingers slipping past layers of clothing to touch the skin beneath, and his mouth pressed against the side of his neck, Dean practically jumped out of his skin.

"Whoa, Cas!" he cried, somehow able to separate them and back away. The angel turned toward him, giving Dean a good look at his flushed cheeks, the desire in his eyes. When Cas took a step toward him he held up a hand, tried not to see how it shook.

"Listen," he went on, trying to seek solace in practical matters, even though Cas kept watching him in that same, ardent manner. "I don't know what this place did to you, but we gotta go find Sam and figure out what's going on. I mean look at this place, Cas! Bobby's alive, Rufus is alive, Garth is a damn pothead, Crowley runs a creepy playhouse and club. It's like the video for Dance Hall Days- none of it makes any sense!"

Cas, who had started to close the distance between them, abruptly stopped. He stared at Dean for several long moments, head tilted, his gaze thoughtful. Dean swallowed, waited.

After a time Cas's face took on a more familiar expression, and he said, with a touch of astonishment: "You...you're not Dean. Not the one I know."

Before Dean could ask him what the hell he meant, there was a rapid knock on the door, followed by a familiar voice cheerfully calling Cas's name.

"Balthazar," Cas explained when Dean shot him a confused look. "He's here to help me get ready for my client. You need to leave," he stated, grabbing Dean by the arm and practically dragging him for the balcony.

"Client? Whoa whoa, wait a second," Dean protested, turning round just as Cas shoved him through the glass doors. Their eyes met and held. "Are you telling me you're a call girl?"

"It depends on the day of the week," Cas answered matter-of-factly. He shot a quick glance at the door when it opened, looked back at Dean. "I will be finished after midnight. Come back here then. He can show you where to meet me."

"He who? Cas, what's-" Dean began, but Cas had touched his brow, effectively zapping him from the balcony to the ground within seconds. It took him a moment to register he was standing in the courtyard by the employee entrance before he spun around to find Garth peering up at him thoughtfully.

A moment of silence passed. Two. And then Dean exploded.

"What the _hell_ is going on here?" he demanded. He gestured toward Purgatory wildly, head shaking in disbelief. "Dead people are alive, Crowley has the world's craziest night club, angels and demons are putting on crappy plays and Cas- _Cas_- is a showgirl!"

Garth, who had listened to Dean's outburst without flinching, smiled and nodded. "Hey, that's good," he approved. "That's exactly what's going on."

"And when were you going to tell me all this?" Dean demanded.

A thoughtful pause followed by a shrug. "You didn't ask."

Dean took a step toward Garth, not sure what he was going to do or say but certain that whatever it was, it'd feel _good. _Instead he just sighed and asked him to call Rufus. He needed to get away from this place. Garth lifted his feet from the water, grasped his socks and shoes and, barefoot, padded toward the woods. Dean watched him go and grunted. He'd need more than a few beers to drown out this memory.

A chuckling voice drew his attention. At seeing a shadow manifest in the trees Dean immediately went on the defensive.

"My, my. You haven't changed much, have you? I guess that's why you're so _fun_."

Dean, his eyes narrowing, gritted his teeth. "Son of a bitch," he murmured as the short, chuckling figure stepped into the light. "Gabriel. So you're behind all this."

"Who, me? I'm flattered you think so, Dean," Gabriel answered, a sly smile on his face. "Sadly, though, I didn't have much say in things. If I did, I'd be the one running this club. You have any idea how boring it is putting on the same show for these morons?"

"The play was you?"

"Mostly," Gabriel admitted with a careless shrug. "Not my little brother's part, though. Oh make sure you get Castiel to tell you how we had to change the story. We went back and forth for _hours."_

Dean scowled. "Let's get to the part where you start answering questions, like why Cas in in that place, or where Sam is?"

Gabriel sighed dramatically. "Typical Dean. You really have no appreciation for humor. This isn't the best place to talk anyway. If Crowley knew Michael's vessel was here he'd have every demon in this place hunting you down. So you just go on back to base for now, all right? Oh and don't worry about baby brother." He leaned in close, flashed a mischievous smile. "He's got an angel on his shoulder. Or anywhere else he needs me to be, if you know what I mean."

Dean could only widen his eyes in outrage before Gabriel snapped his fingers, and the courtyard vanished.


	3. Chapter 3

When Dean opened his eyes again he found himself staring at the circular ceiling fan inside Bobby's panic room. He bolted upright, tensing with the anticipation of being bound, but there were no restraints on his wrists or ankles. The door stood open. There was even a tray of food on the table. It was with a suddenness that he realized he was starving, and Dean attacked the tray with vigor.

After he swallowed the last bit of cheeseburger and downed the last drop of beer, he heard approaching footsteps. Expecting Bobby, Rufus or Garth, he stepped into the doorway, ready with a remark about the food when he saw his visitor was none other than Sam.

As always, the surge of joy that rose within him nearly made talking difficult. Still, he managed to say his brother's name just as Sam closed the distance between them and swept him up in a rough embrace. Dean held fast to him, glad that of all the insanity this place had to offer, at least he had Sam.

Sam drew back first, smiling down at Dean with such delight he was reminded of the kid brother he set off fireworks with all those years ago.

"Dean!" Sam enthused. "I didn't believe it when they told me you were back. But you're really here! You're-" Overcome with emotion, Sam clasped Dean to him again.

"Okay, okay," he said, half laughing at the way Sam exuberantly slapped his back. "Come on, Sam, let me breathe."

"Oh!" Sam immediately let him go and stepped back, looking almost sheepish. "Sorry. It's just that I'm so happy to see you. I missed you."

Dean smiled his way through the want to cry. "Same here. Damn, Sammy. It's like I haven't seen you in forever. What's going on here? They all said it was your idea to sneak into Crowley's place."

"It was." Sam beamed like a kid who just got a passing grade on a project. "See, they were letting me in there for free because I've got demon blood in me, and that's when I-"

"Wait. Are you sucking down demon blood?" Dean demanded, his joy replaced by disappointment.

"What? No! Well, not anymore. Dean, don't be mad, please," Sam begged, turning to follow Dean as he strode out of the panic room. "I had to prove to them I was Sam Winchester. A lot of the shifters like to dress up as you and I so..."

"So you start up again. How could Bobby let you do it?"

"He didn't," stated another voice from the top of the stairs. Dean looked up, scowled at seeing Gabriel there. He wore a half smile, his arms crossed at his chest. "In case you forgot, Dean, Sam there can make his own decisions." His gaze then went to Sam. "How you holding up?"

"I have a little headache, but I'm okay. Better now that Dean's here," Sam added with a smile for his brother.

Dean returned the smile, yet could not shake the sense that something seemed...off about him.

Gabriel started down the steps. When he reached Sam's side he clapped him on the shoulder. Dean didn't miss the way his face softened with intimacy, or the way his hand lingered on Sam's shoulder. "Go upstairs and get some rest. I'll fill Dean in on the details."

"Okay." Sam turned to Dean, hugged him again before starting up the stairs. When Gabriel abruptly slapped his ass on the way up and gave a leering smile Dean nearly swung at the angel.

"Son of a-!"

"Whoa there," Gabriel cautioned with a wagging finger. "Before you give me with one of your knuckle sandwiches you might wanna know a little something about Sammy."

"What's that?" he managed through clenched teeth. He took a step closer to Gabriel. "Because all I saw was you molesting my little brother."

"Molest?" Gabriel laughed merrily. "Please. What I do with _and_ to Sam isn't any more of your business than what you do with _my_ brother is mine. Ah, right, I had forgotten," he amended, tapping his chin while Dean stepped away and scowled. "You're a little fuzzy on that detail. I guess that's to be expected since the you that did all those things hasn't been around in three years."

Dean glowered at the angel. "Gabriel, if you don't start talking sense I swear I will knock your damn teeth out."

Gabriel laughed again. "I did miss you, Dean. All right, you want the story? Where should I start? Hmm. I know: my favorite subject." Smiling, he leaned forward and murmured, "That's Sam in case you weren't paying attention."

Dean's hands clenched into fists. He forced a smile, even though all he wanted to do was beat that smug face into a bloody pulp. Gabriel obviously knew this and chuckled.

He took his ease on the bottom step and looked up at Dean. "You know that my big brother got his hands on Sam in Detroit, and your plan to open the cage didn't work. So you and Castiel went to the big showdown to try and save him."

"Yeah, I know that already," Dean said irritably.

"Hey," Gabriel commented, lifting his hands in a pleading gesture. "You're an alternate reality Dean; I need to do my fact check first. What happened in your reality, anyway?"

Dean glanced away, his throat tightening. The memory of that day still felt as fresh, as real, as when Sam had him pinned against the Impala and was beating him senseless. "Sam was able to break free from Lucifer long enough to open the cage. He...he threw himself into it, and took Lucifer and Michael with him."

Gabriel gave a low whistle. "That's my boy," he said approvingly, earning another glower from Dean. His response was a pleasant smile. "I've been engaging in relations with your brother for some time now. You might as well get used to it."

"Shut the hell up with that already," Dean snapped, putting aside the thought of Gabriel and Sam being intimate in any way. "So what happened here?"

Gabriel's expression turned sober, something entirely new in Dean's experience with the former Trickster. "Michael dropped in on Castiel and you- well, the other you. Things happened and there was an...agreement."

It took Dean a moment to grasp Gabriel's meaning. "So you're saying the other me let Michael use him? Why?"

"That's the mystery," Gabriel replied, his expression darkening. "Only other one who was there was Castiel. He showed up here with Sam, half delirious, and just left. I will say this, though: he was _not _happy."

Dean could very well imagine that. He'd been on the receiving end of Cas's unhappiness when it came to giving in to Michael's demands. "Not a word to any of you then?"

"Nope. Of course, he only ever opened up to our Dean so..." he trailed off, waggled his eyebrow.

"Right." Dean nodded shortly. "Cas wanted me to see him later tonight. He said you knew where to go."

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Of course. Poor little distressed Castiel. Losing our Dean really did a number on him."

Dean recalled the harshness in Cas's words, the icy tone of voice. "Yeah," he muttered. After clearing his throat he asked, "You said Sam was half delirious? What happened to him?"

Gabriel's face hardened. "Lucy left a mark on Sam's mind and soul. I was the one who helped him."

To this Dean couldn't help but be surprised. "You?" he scoffed. "Last I checked your way of helping him was killing me a hundred times."

Gabriel smiled slowly. There was a glint in his eyes, reminding Dean that despite his outward appearance, the little guy was an archangel. "My reasons might be a little too complicated for you so let me put it this way: he saved me when I stood up to Lucifer, so I saved him. I'm sure you remember it."

Dean thought back to that incident in the hotel, Lucifer storming the place and killing all the pagan gods. His harsh pep talk with Gabriel in the backseat of the Impala. Their reluctant partnership in order to break Kali's blood binding trap. The angel staying behind to let them get away. "Sam went back for you," he guessed.

"Bingo." Gabriel gave a half smile. "You weren't exactly thrilled but seeing as to how you were soft on one angel we thought you'd be soft on another."

Dean grunted. He didn't need to know how this world's version of him reacted to having a former Trickster on their team. "Are you still healing Sam?"

"He won't ever be completely healed," Gabriel answered with a sigh. "But he's getting better. He's got me watching over him. So," he said, rising to his feet and clapping his hands. "Let's say we get you cleaned up and ready for your big date with Castiel? I'm sure I can give you a few pointers."

"No thanks," Dean responded sourly. "You still didn't tell me Sammy's plan for Crowley's crazy hunter's lodge."

The archangel grimaced. "Ooo. Right. That. Well, it's kind of hard to explain."

Dean leveled him with a dead stare. "Try me."

"I'd love to, I really would. There's a few details I think you should hear from Castiel first. We need his help too. Hey! You could ask him for us."

"Wait. You're saying he isn't part of the plan?"

Gabriel clapped his hand over his mouth in a display of mock embarrassment. "Uh oh. I let something slip. Come on, Dean, where's your sense of humor?" he demanded when Dean took a step toward him. "Honestly, you're starting to remind me of Michael. No, my little brother isn't in on our plans. He never came back to us after the Apocalypse ended. It wasn't until Sam got inside Crowley's that we knew Castiel was here. He was even able to squeeze a few secrets out of him."

Dean nodded, unable to conceal a smile. Sam hadn't lost his touch with people. "What about Balthazar? Is he on our side?"

"He's on Balthazar's side," Gabriel responded with a snort. "Neutral as far as we can tell. We don't even know if he's been with Castiel this whole time."

Dean crossed his arms, mulling over this new information. "Guess that's something else I better ask Cas about."

Gabriel smiled. "Just what I was thinking. Oh," he added. "If you see Balthazar, ask about my horn. I'd really like it back."

Dean smirked. "Right." He glanced at his watch. "I got some time to kill. I'm gonna check on Sam," he said, brushing past Gabriel. "Come find me when it's time to go."

"Of course. Don't keep your little brother too long now," Gabriel requested as Dean opened the door. "We have..._things _to talk about as well."

Dean sent him a scowl, debated on saying something but ended up shaking his head and leaving. The last thing he saw before he closed the door was Gabriel's wide grin.

Dean found Sam lying on a cot upstairs. Bobby and Rufus were nowhere to be found; as Dean passed a window he spotted Garth reclining on the hood of one of the junkers outside, a joint in one hand and bag of potato chips propped against him. He wore a smile of utter contentment. Dean grunted. Least someone around here was happy.

At hearing footsteps Sam lifted his arm from his eyes. His face lit up at seeing Dean, and he greeted him with a warm, 'Hey,' as Dean settled onto the end of the cot. He sat with his hands draped between his knees, the smile he gave Sam sympathetic. The way Sam's gaze lingered on him, Dean had to wonder if he was even aware that he wasn't the same Dean from this world.

He noted his brother's pale, drawn features. "Your headache from the blood detox?"

"It's not as bad as it was before," Sam assured him, easing onto his elbows. "I only had to drink a little to prove I was me. Gabe's been helping me get through that, too."

"Gabe, huh?" Dean shook his head, gave a little laugh. "I gotta tell you, Sammy, I never thought you'd become friends with that Trickster."

"Former Trickster," Sam corrected, his tone that of a child abruptly telling his parent he was wrong about something. "He's helped me a lot, Dean. I'd still be a mess if not for him."

Dean found he was responding in a tone he once reserved for Sam when he was much, much younger. "Right. Former Trickster. And I'm glad he's taking care of you," he added, though the words stuck in his throat. "So what are you two anyway? BFFs?"

Sam's smile was warm, if a little shy. "You could say that. Like you and Cas."

The reference to his other self's involvement with Cas resulted in an unexpected feeling settling in his heart, especially when paired with the memory of their encounter in the dressing room. Somehow able to push those feelings aside, Dean gave a half smile. "Guess you'd know all about it, huh?"

"Dude," Sam said, laughing. He almost sounded like himself. "I'm telling you, the minute you guys hooked up you were like Romeo and Juliet. I'm serious," he stressed when Dean gave a disbelieving exclamation. "You were always together. I mean, sure, he didn't have his mojo but you never left him behind. You let him ride shotgun a few times, hell you even let him choose the music. Dean, you _never _did that with me. And there wasn't a thing Cas wouldn't do for you. The first time he showed up with some pecan pie-" Sam broke off to laugh again. "I don't think I'd ever seen you that happy before. It was awesome."

Throughout the telling Dean couldn't help but smile, though he had to fight back the sorrow too. This world's version of himself never had to experience Cas's ill-thought plan of obtaining souls to help him win the angels' civil war, his rebirth as arrogant god, his demise as a faulty host for Leviathan. How the madness he inherited from Sam broke him to such a degree he refused to acknowledge his mistakes. And now Cas was lost somewhere in Purgatory, fighting for his life, hiding, or dead for all Dean knew. He glanced away, unwilling to let Sam see his pain.

"I'm sorry," Sam said swiftly. "I didn't mean to bring all that up. It's gotta be hard knowing Cas is in that place."

Dean drew in a shaking breath, nodded. "Yeah. It is," he admitted quietly. "He, ah, doesn't seem like the type to do that. You know." He gestured for effect, unable to voice the truth. "Did he tell you why?"

"Why what?"

"Why he's there."

Sam averted his gaze, but not before Dean saw the flash of unease in his eyes. "Sammy," he commanded. "Tell me."

A look of embarrassment crossed his features. "Well, it's not really for me to say," he began, rubbing the back of his neck. "Cas...changed after you left. I think he stays there because he's got nowhere else to go."

"What the hell does that mean?" Dean demanded. "Didn't you tell him he could come here?"

"I would have," Sam answered with a nod. "But Bobby doesn't want him here. See, he's a little sore at Cas for leaving. I was in pretty bad shape. No one knew if I was gonna make it."

Dean's chest tightened at the thought of his brother in distress, possibly dying, and no one there to help him. He'd make damn sure to ask Cas what the hell he was thinking for abandoning Sam. "What about Gabriel? Wasn't he with you?"

"Not then, no. I don't know when he got here. I blacked out a lot. One day I woke up, and he was just sitting in that chair." Sam gestured, Dean not missing the little smile on his face. "It was...weird at first. I thought he was going to tell me that I dreamed everything or something. He was wearing the Dr. Sexy scrubs."

"You gotta be kidding me," Dean groaned, and Sam gave a little laugh.

"Like I said, weird. But he just smiled at me and said, 'The doctor is in, Sam. You're gonna be just fine.'"

Though the implications of such a statement made Dean grimace, he had to hand it to Gabriel for coming to the plate when no one else could. He gripped his brother's shoulder, nodded. "I'll give him a candy bar or something for it."

Sam smiled, obviously pleased by Dean's promise. He brightened then. "Oh, you're going to see Cas tonight right? Maybe you can talk him into joining us."

"Yeah. 'Gabe' said that much," he said, unable to keep his sarcasm back.

"If anyone can do it, it's you," Sam went on, smiling broadly. He went to rise. "I'll go find Bobby and-"

"Whoa there," Dean interrupted, holding out his hand the instant he saw Sam sway. "I don't think you're going anywhere right now. Bobby will be around. Talk to him after you take five."

Sam laid back down, only to abruptly sit up and grab at Dean's sleeve. "Can you stay? At least until I'm asleep."

The request made Dean smile in disbelief. "Aren't you a little old to be asking me that?" he teased, but at seeing the genuine worry in Sam's eyes he sobered. "You're serious."

"Gabe usually does it, but I'd like it if you did, Dean. Like you used to, remember?"

Unbidden, the memories of all those nights in hotels across the country came rushing back: Sam asking for water, wanting a story or waking up in tears after a bad dream. And, one time, when Dean woke up from a bad dream to find Sam had crawled into bed with him. His telling Dean not to be scared because he had checked under the bed for monsters.

Dean's eyes watered, but he managed to keep from crying. "All right," he agreed softly. "I'll stay."

Sam smiled, gave him a quick, hard hug, and laid down. A little smile touched Dean's lips as he watched Sam drift off. It soon faded at recalling his prayer just before that wavelength zapped him from one Purgatory into another.

Sighing, he lifted his gaze to the ceiling.

_Cas..._

"Oh ho! I know that look," Gabriel said, his sudden appearance startling Dean into a curse. He smiled as he strode in from the hall. "Getting close to the time to see your one and only. Want me to help spruce you up? He's used to a certain kind of clientele."

"Shut up," Dean snapped, keeping his voice low out of respect for Sam.

Gabriel's brows lifted. "Ooo. Feisty. Castiel will help with that."

Dean pushed himself to his feet and closed the distance between them in seconds. He stood over him, a finger in his face. Gabriel kept smiling. "The only reason I haven't smashed your nose in is cause of what you did for Sammy. Don't push it."

"I wouldn't dream of it," came the less-than-sincere promise. "Besides, I'm going to help you get out of here."

Dean looked at him with renewed interest. "Right now?"

"First you help us with our plan. Talk to little Castiel, get him on our side, get my horn from Balthazar and I can send you back to the picturesque Purgatory you're used to." Gabriel smiled, held out his hand. "Deal?"

Dean stared down at Gabriel's proffered hand, weighed his options. There weren't many. That, and something about the situation with Cas just didn't sit right with him. He needed to know what happened.

After a moment he slapped his hand against the archangel's.

"Deal."


	4. Chapter 4

Castiel stood by the window, his gaze fixed on the stars. It was quiet now, the remainder of the late-night crowd having left shortly after his last client stirred from the bed to go into the bathroom. He acknowledged his exhaustion- the act of tagging souls was a weary one- but sleep would elude him for at least a few more hours. Eventually he would fall into a dreamless slumber before Balthazar would wake him in the morning, and he'd do it all over again. Rare were these moments of peace; he cherished them like they were the last ones he'd ever experience.

_The scent of brewing coffee drew him from sleep. Castiel lifted his head, squinted toward the tiny kitchen across the way. Dean stood there in a black tee shirt and shorts, humming a song as he set two mugs on the counter. He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes meeting Cas's. A smile touched his lips, reflected in his eyes. _

"_Morning," he greeted cheerfully. "Now get your ass out of bed already. We gotta hit the road soon."_

_Cas sat up and pushed the covers aside. A chill passed through him when his feet touched the cold floor. He drew his foot back, then gently placed it down again. His weakened state had allowed him to experience so many sensations. He didn't think he'd ever get tired of knowing what it was like to _feel _cold._

_Dean poured the coffee into a mug, added a few sugars and a splash of milk (most of which got onto the counter), then strode toward Cas. Their fingers brushed when he accepted the mug. As Cas looked into his eyes, saw that soft, familiar smile touch Dean's lips, he knew he preferred feeling warmth to cold. _

A pair of arms slid around Castiel's waist, gave him a gentle squeeze. She murmured something to him- it could have been anything for all that he cared- and brushed her lips across the back of his neck. There was a soft, lusty giggle, a promise to return next week before she inserted an envelope into his back pocket. She patted his bottom, gave an appreciative sound and drifted away. Cas waited until the door closed before he pulled the envelope free and threw it on a nearby table. It landed atop the small pile of trinkets given by other clients, the force behind the throw nearly knocking it over.

He resumed his study of the stars, thinking again about where he had been, and where he was going. How sure he had been when he first decided on this course of action. Then, the hope of success had been enough to keep his thoughts from drifting too much into all he was subjecting himself to. Every client he met, be it for nothing more than a friendly ear to more base pursuits, was merely a means to an end. Even participating in that ridiculous dinner show hadn't swayed him, despite how sensitive he was to the subject matter.

Three years later, however, that hope had transformed into a faded glimmer, leaving him nothing but bittersweet memories accompanied by remorse, shame, and a sense that he was a fool. Castiel, former soldier in a garrison of Heaven, close confidante to a very special pair of humans, now in the soul business for a demon. A disgrace to his brothers and sisters that not even the fallen could stand to look him in the eye. On the other hand, the demons looked upon him with ironic amusement. The monsters considered him a plaything, one to be pursued, loved, eaten, or killed. He heard that the alpha vampire himself joked about turning him so he could keep the pretty, melancholy angel all to himself. As time wore on, Cas would have considered accepting such a proposal, if only to escape the prison he had made for himself.

But tonight had changed all that.

Castiel's pulsed raced at the memory, and he laid his hand over the watch- _Dean's_ watch- as he drew in a deep breath. A smile touched the corner of his mouth, and for a moment he was surprised by the reaction. For the first time in years he felt that hope come surging back. It hadn't mattered that Dean was not _his _Dean; just seeing him again, being able to hold him, feel him, breathe him in, cut through the despair weighing him down. Though long having believed himself incapable of looking for signs anymore, tonight was different. Tonight _meant _something. He wasn't going to let it get away.

There was a swift knock on the door. Before Cas could answer it opened, admitting Balthazar. He greeted Cas with a sunny smile, held up the decanter and glass in hand. "Another night of success, eh Cassy? Let's drink on it. Oh," he said, studying Cas intently. "What's this? Something has put some light back into your eyes. I think I saw it in her eyes too," he added with a mischievous smile.

"I wouldn't know," Cas responded, turning away from the window to join Balthazar.

The angel approached the mussed bed and plopped himself onto it with a flourish. He laughed as he poured a glass. "Of course you wouldn't," he remarked casually. "These days I think you're walking around with your eyes closed. Going through the motions, as the humans say."

Cas accepted the glass and downed the contents. He grimaced a little- he hadn't quite gotten a taste for brandy- and sat on the bed. "It's nothing," he murmured. "It'll pass."

"I have heard you say that so much I could set it to music and dance to it," Balthazar drawled, filling his glass again. "And this is why you need a drink. Let those demons go." He smiled at his own joke.

Cas managed a wan smile. "I'll try."

Balthazar smiled again. "And for all the tomorrows after," he remarked sagely. "So, I heard something very interesting tonight."

"What's that?" Cas asked, about to take a sip.

Balthazar stretched lazily on the bed, the decanter tucked against him. "Oh, nothing much. Just that the boss is going to be entertaining some upper class visitors soon."

Castiel's hand froze in mid-motion. He sent the other angel a surprised look. "What?" His voice was so soft he barely heard himself. "Why?"

"My guess is that your venture down here has finally gotten their attention. Cheers," Balthazar explained, plucking the glass from Cas's nerveless hand and finishing it off. He smacked his lips and lowered the glass. "I'll find out, don't worry. Secrets don't stay secret around here for very long. This place has a lot of eyes. Like the ones that saw you talking to Sam Winchester."

Cas met his gaze. Balthazar was smiling, as if challenging him to deny it. "I was," he admitted.

"What did he want?"

"Just to talk. We didn't speak for very long."

"Long or short, it was enough for you to show something a little like excitement." He studied him for a moment, the easy humor that was his trademark giving way for genuine concern. "Still pining for the old days, are we? Of course you are," he amended before Cas could speak. "Even if our visitor _is_ him, you won't get the chance for a one on one. We're both outcasts. You may as well get used to it."

Cas looked away, his hands tensing at his sides. He knew Balthazar spoke the truth. The likelihood of a meeting with Michael was next to impossible, especially now.

He took a moment to collect himself. "I'm not giving up hope, Balthazar," he stated, rising from the bed. "I will have an audience with him."

"And if he decides to kill you?"

Cas looked to the stars. "Then he kills me."

There was a moment of silence before Balthazar gave a weary sigh. "All right, all right. I think you're crazy to even try but I'll keep my eyes and ears open for you. Anything to get you to stop being so dismal."

At this Cas turned to give him a small, appreciative smile. "Thank you, Balthazar."

"Don't thank me yet," he commented, rising from the bed. He presented the decanter and glass. "Keep this. Something tells me you're going to be needing it."

Again Cas smiled, nodded and extended his hand. Balthazar shook it, his smile helpless before he vanished.

Alone now, Cas set the decanter down on the table nearest him before venturing for the small refrigerator in the corner. After withdrawing a six pack of beer he projected himself to where he'd meet Dean. While it wasn't the one he wanted to see above all else, he still found comfort in it.

* * *

Dean made his way down the path, annoyed at the double whammy of being angel zapped from Bobby's and the fact that he had no real clue as to where he was headed. The only thing Gabriel told him was to start walking. As he swept his gaze across the empty plains, he scowled. Friggin' angels.

The road curved ahead, running along the edge of a cornfield until ending at a dilapidated barn. Dean was ready to keep moving when he noted the demon wards painted on the door. Keeping a wary eye out, he started toward it, all the while wondering what kind of story he'd get from Cas. If it was anything like what he heard from Gabriel, Bobby and Sam, it'd be difficult for him to swallow. Particularly the bit about his letting Michael use him. His thoughts went back to that day in his father's storage unit; not even Zachariah breaking both Sam's legs, taking his lungs and giving Dean cancer had been able to convince him to say yes. His convictions had simply been too strong.

So, then, what had been stronger than his beliefs? What could have driven this world's Dean to say yes?

The barn door stood open a bit. Inviting him in. He spent a moment gathering his composure, exhaled and crossed the threshold.

As soon as he stepped in, he was treated to the sight of Castiel sitting on the hood of the Impala, a six pack beside him. The first rush of joy at seeing his baby in one piece brought a smile to his face, but it was the song Cas was listening to that drew his attention.

"Asia? Really?" Dean remarked with a small smile as he closed the door. Wards were painted on it, the fresh coating covering the old ones underneath.

Cas looked up at Dean. For a moment, his entire face lit up. The overwhelming joy Dean saw in the angel's eyes simultaneously pleased and embarrassed him. But then sorrow and regret chased the light away, and Cas smoothed his expression.

"Yes," he said, and gestured for the radio. The song cut mid chorus. "It has special meaning."

"It should. It's a good song," Dean approved. "Since when do you like the same music I do?"

Cas's smile was sad. "There are a lot of things I like because of you- him," he murmured.

It was the correction that reminded Dean why he had come here. That nothing about this meeting was normal. He watched Cas slide off the hood and run a hand through his hair. It was with a slight start that he realized Cas wasn't wearing the black suit or oversized trench coat. Barefoot, in tattered jeans, a faded tee shirt, a black watch at his wrist. It all made him so very...human.

"I got some of the story from the others," Dean began, choosing his words carefully. "Mind, uh, telling me yours?"

Cas selected a bottle, twisted the cap off and presented it to Dean. For a moment he hesitated. He had opened it exactly the way he always did.

"That depends on what you want to know," Cas responded quietly as Dean accepted the bottle.

The question Dean wanted to ask most of all, and the answer to it, coupled with the memory of their meeting in the dressing room, made him shift in place. He couldn't tell if he was uncomfortable with the truth or he was still shocked by it all. His money was on shock.

After taking a healthy swig for courage, he managed a slight, if somewhat surprised, smile. "Well they said that sometime during the Apocalypse me and you- I mean you and the other me- uh. Hooked up."

"Yes." There was a world of sorrow in his reply.

Dean couldn't help but react to how distraught Cas looked, but he needed to know. "When did it happen?"

"On a Sunday evening three years and eight months ago," Cas answered. The irrefutably logical response seemed to be more than just Cas's typical reaction to those kinds of questions. There was powerful emotion behind the words, as if he had done nothing but reflect on the time since. Dean could very well relate.

"Things were difficult between you- Dean, I mean- and Sam. He had been hunting alone for a week or so. My search for God led me to Raphael's vessel. I went to Dean for help."

"Yeah, I remember. So did you piss off that girl too by telling her about her dad?" Dean asked with a small smile.

Cas regarded him curiously. "There was no girl or a revelation about her father," he answered. "When I found him, he was alone in the motel room, drinking. He was distressed over Sam. Looking back now, I believe he was greatly relieved to see me. As was I," he added, softly this time. "And it wasn't just because I knew he was the only one who'd help me. As an angel, I was supposed to be beyond things such as human emotions. Dean...Dean changed all that. That night, everything made sense. For both of us."

As Dean absorbed the implications of this statement, he couldn't help but notice the way Cas's gaze lingered on the backseat of the car. It brought forth a rather poignant memory of Anna Milton, and he cleared his throat. "So, ah," he began, meeting Cas's eyes when he looked to him again. "You're saying that on the night before we- you two I mean- found Raphael you, ah. You know," he said, unable to say the word, even though his pulse quickened for reasons he could not identify.

"After several viewings of pornography in order for me to gain a better understanding of what was expected of me, yes," Cas answered forthrightly, and Dean had to look away to hide his eye roll, his flushed cheeks. "Even with the instructions I learned from the pornography, it was very clumsy. Awkward. Still I wanted to make a good impression. But he laughed so much." He paused to smile, his eyes turning distant. "Hearing him laugh affected me. I was happy, and I _knew _what happiness was. It was incredible. For the first time I felt that the end of days would be worth experiencing so long as we remained side by side."

It was Dean's turn to reminisce about that day in the garage, and his admitting to Cas that he'd rather have him, cursed or not. His heart twisted with pain at the memory, the recollection that while he was here, listening to this Castiel's love story, the Cas he knew was still somewhere in the real Purgatory.

"It's why it hurt so much when Dean nearly said yes to Michael."

This drew Dean from his thoughts. When he glanced back at Cas he saw a hint of anger shining in his eyes. His hand trembled, very slightly, as he took another drink.

"The alley," he guessed, and Cas nodded. "Hey, he got the message right? A beating will do that."

Cas's face hardened. "You don't know how much it hurt to do that. How it threw everything I had given up right back in my face. How it tarnished what we had just made together. I went to that abandoned building knowing it was to my death because I couldn't watch him fail."

The harsh edge in Cas's voice sobered Dean. "Hey," he said softly. This was a pain they both shared, and in lieu of his other self being here, he had to be the one to reassure the angel. "If this Dean is anything like me, he was hurting too. He was happy to know you were alive, right?"

Cas looked down at the ground. "I didn't know that at first. He drove down to the hospital to get me, and we checked into a local motel for the night. I slept most of the time. When I woke up, Dean was sitting beside me, and he just had this..._look _on his face. It wasn't until he said, 'You scared the hell out of me back there, Cas,' that I understood what the look meant. After that we-"

"Yeah, I get it. Big happy ending," Dean interrupted as gently as he could. It was obvious Cas could go on all night about this. "I'm guessing you guys hit up Chicago and Detroit next."

"Yes."

"And when Lucifer got a hold of Sam, you two went to the showdown. Michael was waiting for you."

Again Cas answered in the affirmative. His gaze again went to the backseat, his throat flashing as he swallowed.

An uneasy silence stretched between them. After a time Dean's face softened, and he took his place beside Cas.

"Talk to me," he requested. "What happened at the showdown?"

The angel flinched a little, as if he had been struck. He took a drink and, quietly, sadly, began his story.

* * *

_Three years earlier..._

Dean flew down the highway, his hands fastened on the steering wheel like it was a part of him. Castiel, whose weakened state allowed him to correctly interpret the car's speed as fast, gripped the edge of the seat with both hands. He studied Dean's stern, determined features, could see the pain he hadn't been able to conceal. Cas wanted to say something assuring, flippant maybe (his sense of humor had been improving thanks to all the movies he'd been watching)- anything to relieve the tension in the car. But he also knew it wasn't the right time. The decision to go after Sam and Michael had been made after a heart-wrenching scene in Detroit, one fueled by equal parts desperation and determination to be there for Sam. Cas had not hesitated when Dean proposed the trip; there was no other place he needed, or wanted, to be right now. Judging from the occasional small smiles Dean sent him, Cas knew the feeling was shared.

Dean turned down a side road so fast Cas slid in place. He maintained his balance despite his heart having jumped a beat. The car bounced and shuddered along the dusty road, but when it started to make a peculiar, chugging sound Dean groaned.

"Oh no, not now, baby," he murmured.

Cas was immediately alert. "Is something wrong?"

Dean slowed the car to a stop and cut the ignition. "She just needs a drink," he said as he turned round to rummage in the backseat.

Cas frowned thoughtfully. "The car feels thirst?"

A slight laugh echoed from the backseat. The look Dean sent him was one of exasperated amusement as he sat upright, a bottle in hand. "She does when I forget to give her a pick-me-up," he answered, pushing the door open and getting out.

The angel nodded, though he still didn't understand. "Let me help, Dean," he offered, exiting the car and joining him at the hood. He watched Dean slide his hand under it, muttering to himself before he gave a little exclamation and popped it open. As he went to raise the lid the clasp on his watch caught on the edge.

"Dammit. Cas, hold onto this for me," Dean requested, slipping the watch free and passing it off.

Cas tucked it into his coat pocket, his gaze thoughtful as he watched Dean upend the bottle into a compartment inside the car.

"Her drink?"

Dean gave a half smile. "Yep. We'll be ready to roll soon."

"All right."

At seeing Cas hadn't moved Dean sent him a questioning glance. "You just going to stand there and watch?"

There was no hesitation. "Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I want to learn. Back in Detroit Sam asked me to look out for you. He said that you once asked him to take care of her, and I want to do the same if-"

Dean set the empty bottle down, hard. "Dammit, Cas," he growled. "What did I tell you last night?"

"Before or after we-"

"We're all walking away from this," he interrupted. "You, me, Sam, and we're not looking back. Those flying monkeys aren't going to get the chance to use any of us. Understand? I mean it, Cas," he stressed. "I'm not letting anything bad happen to us."

Cas searched Dean's face, could not help but be affected by the passion in those words, in those eyes. It made him feel as empowered as if he were at full strength. "I understand."

When Dean smiled, it chased away the darkness that had clouded his eyes. He clapped his hand on Cas's shoulder, gave it a squeeze before he drew him against his chest. As with everything he'd come to expect from Dean, it was a swift but meaningful embrace. The pressure of his hand against the back of Cas's head, the arm about his shoulders holding him ever closer, spoke louder than anything either of them could have said. And when Cas squeezed Dean back, and he heard him give a small sound of satisfaction, he closed his eyes with a little sigh.

Together, then. As it should be.

As Dean drew back Cas glanced past him and stiffened. He spoke Dean's name softly, squeezed his shoulder. He turned round, his face darkening at the figure standing a short distance away.

Adam- Michael- watched them in silence. Though he made no sudden movements, Cas did not let his guard down. He sought the angel blade tucked against his side. He saw Dean move for his holstered pistol.

"There will be no need for that," Michael announced calmly. "I've come to discuss matters."

"Yeah, well, we ain't interested," Dean countered with a scowl.

Michael's eyes flashed. "Make no mistake. I could reduce you both to ashes with a mere thought."

His tone hadn't changed, but Cas could hear the warning, and stepped closer to Dean. His fingers grazed the hilt of his blade.

"It would be wise to employ some discretion and listen," Michael continued. "There is more at stake here than you realize."

"Like what?" Dean challenged. "Your crazy brother's already wearing mine, and you're standing there talking to us in my half-brother's body. So unless you're here to say you're backing down we got nothing to talk about."

Michael bowed his head, slightly. Cas immediately stepped in front of Dean and drew his blade.

"Cas, what the hell are you doing?" Dean demanded in a harsh whisper.

"I'm only asking you this once, brother," Cas called out. "Don't delay us."

The archangel turned his gaze to him. "Castiel." He spoke his name with disdain, and despite himself, Cas felt a shiver run down his spine. "You have forsaken us. You no longer have the right to call me brother. But I yet have some use for you," he decreed, and gestured.

A sharp, rending sensation gripped Cas's abdomen. He doubled over with a cry, one hand instinctively going to his middle as he dropped the angel blade. Blood streamed between his fingers.

"Cas!" Dean cried, seizing him by the shoulders and forcing him to look up at him.

Cas met his gaze, wide-eyed, managed to gasp out Dean's name before dropping to his knees. Dean went to a knee as well, his grip on Cas's shoulders like iron. With every passing moment, Cas felt his strength ebb. He fumbled for Dean's hand, tried to speak.

"Ssh, don't talk," Dean advised in strangled tones. Anguish competed with the anger in his eyes. "Just hold on. You hear me?" he demanded, shaking him.

Cas drew in a shaky breath. Already his vision was starting to spot. Colors faded, losing their brilliant hues. Shadows seemed to creep across Dean's face.

"Dean..."

"No, you're gonna be okay, I promise," he murmured. When Cas's head drooped Dean drew him to his chest. Cas could feel his body tremble as Dean repeated his vow.

"Castiel will not survive much longer," Michael stated, and Dean quickly jerked his head round. The archangel walked toward them, slowly. "I now present you with a choice, Dean Winchester: allow me the use of your body so I can put an end to Lucifer's return, or not only will Castiel die but Sam and Adam, as well as half the population. And it will all be on you."

Dean clenched his teeth in frustration before looking back at Cas. At seeing the torment in his eyes Cas managed to take hold of his collar. Fighting through the weakness, the darkness, he shook his head.

"...no," he whispered in no voice at all. "Don't do it..."

Dean grimaced in pain. "Cas, I-"

Somewhere from deep within came forth a surge of strength, and he gave Dean a rough shake. "No," he repeated firmly. "Get to Sam...save him..."

Michael now stood behind them, his gaze traveling from Cas bleeding to death on the ground back to Dean. When the hunter suddenly doubled over Cas rasped his name.

"I am not as enabling or patient as Zachariah," Michael said as Dean slid to the ground with a grunt of pain. Cas, lying beside him now, saw a similar wound had appeared on Dean's middle. Despair cut through him, and he sent Michael a pleading glance.

"Stop this, please...!"

"It will stop when he has accepted the role we intended for him."

"Go to hell," Dean rasped. "I'm not doing it..."

Michael knelt next to him, touched his shoulder. He leaned in close to whisper in his ear. Dean tried to jerk away, but Michael's grip held him in place. After some moments Dean's eyes fluttered closed, resignation crossing his pain-stricken face.

Fear gripped Castiel's heart. "No," he breathed in dismay. He groped for Dean's hand, touched the edge of his coat sleeve instead. "Dean..."

Dean's throat flashed as he swallowed. He didn't look at Cas. His gaze was fixed on Michael.

"You son of a bitch," he muttered. "Swear they'll be safe..."

Michael bowed his head. "It will be done."

"Dean!" Cas spoke a little louder, desperate to have him look at him. Again he sought his hand.

Dean's hand clenched. Blood had started to pool beneath him, darkening the ground. He had gone ashen in what seemed like a few seconds. He drew in a deep, shuddering breath.

At last he looked up at Michael. "Do it."

"No!" Cas spared Michael a quick glance, saw him reach for Dean's brow. Forcing himself to his elbows, he managed to drag closer to where Dean lay. He thrust his hand out, his passionate cry of Dean's name lost as brilliant light washed over them. The last thing Cas saw was Dean's profile highlighted by Michael's Grace before he was forced to avert his eyes.

When the glow receded Cas saw Adam's body crumpled on the ground. Trembling, he lifted his gaze to Michael. He now stood above him. The front of his shirt was stained with blood. He locked eyes with Cas, but there was no warmth or familiarity in his expression. He was remote, cold.

"Michael, please," Castiel begged, one hand pressed to his middle, his blood warm and sticky on his hands. "Don't do this. Let him go."

"He has made his choice, Castiel," Michael replied in Dean's voice. To be addressed in such a cold, dispassionate manner cut Cas to the core. "Do not worry. I shall honor my pact," he said, leaning forward. When he pressed his fingers to Cas's brow he shuddered, then grunted in pain as his wound resealed itself.

Michael then stood upright, his face cold. Hard.

Cas paled. "Brother..."

"Goodbye, Castiel. I cast you out of Heaven, of our family, for your transgressions. Paradise will remain closed to you, forever."

So stunned by this sentence, Cas didn't find his voice until after Michael vanished. He shouted for him, over and over, with only his own echo responding to him.


	5. Chapter 5

The ensuing silence was profound. It seemed to amplify the creaking of the barn door as the wind tugged at it. Dean could only stare at Castiel as the angel turned away, one hand going to his right shoulder, his fingers gripping the material of his shirt tightly. He braced himself against the car with his other hand. His whole body trembled. After a moment his head bowed, and Dean could hear muffled sobbing. Yet another indicator of just how human Castiel had become.

Dean was compelled to lay a hand on him, to give him some comfort. He swallowed past the lump his throat, tried to speak, could not. What he just learned kept him spellbound. Numb.

"He promised," Cas murmured. He slammed his hand on the hood, startling Dean. When Cas turned round, he got a good look at the anguish in his face. He drew in a sharp breath. This was a Castiel he wasn't used to. Raw, powerful emotions shone from those red-rimmed eyes. Seeing him this way was as upsetting as it was shocking.

"He _promised,_" Cas repeated, more forcefully this time. There was anger and hurt in his voice, not unlike their meeting in the dressing room. "And he let Michael talk him into it. After all we had been through, all he had said to me and to Sam."

"Did you try to call Michael?" Dean asked in soft tones.

"Dozens of times," Cas answered sharply. He strode away from Dean now, his grip tight on the neck of the beer bottle. "I screamed for him, over and over. None of it did any good. I was cut off from Heaven. Powerless, hapless, hopeless. I had nothing."

The recital abruptly brought forth a memory of another Castiel Dean had met, one also transformed by post-Apocalyptic events. As he watched Cas pace in front of the Impala, he despaired over how both their Deans had failed them. Knew he didn't want to count himself among them. Not when he could do something about it.

"Nothing? Cas, you know better than that," he pointed out gruffly. "They told me you blew town after dropping Sam off at Bobby's. Why didn't you stay? Why didn't you help my brother?"

"Because I wasn't strong enough, Dean," Cas replied wearily. "I _could _be of no help to Sam, or anyone. So I left."

"Don't give me that," he told him. "You ran."

Cas sent him a sharp glance. "What?"

"Yeah, you heard me." Dean stepped closer to him. He stared into Cas's bloodshot eyes, saw the pain and regret shadowing them. "So he said yes. So he betrayed his word. I get you're angry. Hell I'd be pissed too. But do you know what Michael promised him?"

"What does that matter?"

"Everything!" Dean's voice echoed sharply in the barn. "You said Michael threatened you all. The way I see it, Dean agreed because he _was _keeping his promise. And instead of trying to find a way to get him back or forgive him for it, you're here with Crowley. How is that any better than what he did?"

"You don't understand!" Cas shot back. Tears had formed in his eyes, and for a moment Dean glimpsed just how broken the angel was. "Do you know what it's like?" he asked in ragged tones. "To have discovered something so wonderful, only to lose it and nothing, _nothing, _you can do or say will make the ache go away?"

The passion behind the question hit him like a fist to the gut. Dean licked his lips, drew in a deep breath. All he could think about was sitting up night after night, praying to Cas, begging him to give him a message, or appear. Anything to give him peace of mind.

Castiel gave a sad, fragile smile and moved past him for the cooler. "That's why I made the deal. I wanted to bring Michael here so I could set Dean free. I was starting to lose hope of it ever happening. A part of me doesn't want him to see what I've become," he confessed.

Dean could only nod. In this, their opinions were shared.

Cas paused to gather his composure. "And your Castiel?" he asked, leaning over to pick up another bottle. "He's lost to you?"

Dean snapped back to reality. "Why do you think that?"

Cas turned to face him, looking far more drained than before. "Because I can see it in your eyes. Because despite what you say about what I've done, you wouldn't do any less." He studied him for a moment, head tilted. "Does he know?"

"Know what?"

Cas's smile was wan. "I thought not."

Dean shook his head at the cryptic comment and pressed on. "You're better than this, Cas," he remarked, watching as the angel pulled open the back door and sat down. "Working with Crowley? Come on."

Cas slumped in the seat, head bowed as he held the beer bottle between his thighs. Dean leaned over the opening, watching, waiting.

"Okay. Fill me in. What's with the call girl routine?"

A bitter smile tugged at Cas's lips. "A stipulation of my contract. I tag souls for Crowley by any means necessary. Sometimes I just spend an hour or so talking to clients. Other times it's just sex. There are the demons that find intense stimulation when I attempt to smite them, there are the ghouls that like to take a piece or two from me." He showed the inside of his right arm, revealing bite marks. "And every one of them enjoys taking advantage of this vessel's flexibility. Dean did too."

"Right. Of course he did," Dean commented, glad Cas's head was bowed so he didn't see his tight smile. "And the play?"

"Crowley's idea," Cas responded with a shake of the head. "He likes to let everyone know what helped him get to where he is now. Tweaking the noses of Lucifer's supporters, I suppose."

"He still has some?"

"Most of them are dead. The ones left are either in Hell or here."

Dean nodded. "I get it. So what did Crowley want from you for this deal? Angels don't have souls."

Cas twisted open the beer, tossed the cap onto the floor. It clattered among the others already littered there. "I gave him half my Grace."

This statement caused Dean's brows to lift. "But I thought your mojo was drained."

"It regenerated slowly. By the time I decided on this course I had more than enough for the agreement. I can still use some of my powers, but I'm nowhere near as strong as I could be."

Dean turned away, his hand at his mouth. He stared at the wall, the demon wards painted all over it. He was briefly reminded of the very first time he saw Castiel, pushed back the hollow ache in his chest. "Crowley got you for ten years, right?"

"Yes."

"And what happens after it's over?"

"I don't know. Unless I die before my time is up, if and when I see Michael again."

Dean sent him a curious glance. "I thought you said you couldn't see him."

Castiel looked up at him. "There's a rumor that the angels are going to come here. Never before has Heaven sent envoys to Purgatory. No one knows why, either. It's my hope that Michael will be among them. I'll approach him, we'll have words and he'll kill me. Yes," he added with another bitter smile. "That's how it will happen. How I _want _it to happen."

Dean had to look away from the resignation in Cas's eyes. He shoved his hands in his pockets, a muscle working in his cheek as he went over the facts. This hollow, fatalistic Castiel was as different from the one he knew as could be, but the truth was it still hurt to see him like this. Especially because he feared finding his friend in a similar, defeated mindset.

"Who says you have to die when you see Michael again?" Dean murmured. At feeling Cas's eyes on him he turned and nodded, a slight smile touching his lips. "You want to get that son of a bitch out of Dean, don't you?"

Cas's throat flashed as he swallowed. "Yes," he whispered.

"Then let's figure it out. You, me, Sammy, and the rest, because I'll be damned if those flying monkeys get away with screwing the people I care about."

For some moments Cas simply stared up at Dean, as if unable or unwilling to believe his statement. Then the shadows retreated from his face, and he gave Dean such a warm, endearing smile he was actually embarrassed.

He extended his hand. "Come on, buddy. Looking at you like this is depressing the hell out of me."

Castiel laughed softly and gripped Dean's hand, allowing him to assist him to his feet. Before Dean turned away Cas touched his shoulder. He looked into the angel's eyes, felt his breath catch at the warmth, admiration, and affection he saw.

"Thank you," he murmured. "For everything."

It took a moment for Dean to regain his composure, for that look had undone something within him, and he managed a half smile. "Let's wait until things are back to normal- or about as normal as they can get here- before you start thanking me." He slung a companionable arm about Cas's shoulders and started for the doors. "Now we just gotta get back to Bobby's and-"

"I can't go any further than this barn, Dean."

He sent him a surprised glance. "What do you mean? Crowley got this place surrounded by holy fire or something?"

"In a manner of speaking," Cas replied. "The contract I signed also placed a binding spell on me. I'm not strong enough to break free."

Dean frowned. Typical Crowley. Then again, it looked like he was making a killing with Cas's 'talents'; it only made sense to keep him on a leash.

"Is there anything that can break it?"

Cas bowed his head. "If I was at full power I could. I'd need the half he's holding."

"All right then," Dean stated with a smile. "We just gotta get it back."

"How? Ah," Cas amended with a thoughtful nod. "You're going to steal it."

"You got it. We're gonna need some help, though." He reached for his pocket, fully expecting to find his phone. When he grasped nothing he scowled. "Dammit. You got a phone, Cas? Don't think calling for Gabriel will-"

"Oh ye of little faith," Gabriel announced, and Dean whirled round. The archangel leaned against the barn door, smiling like he always did. "Oh, to that obvious confusion on your face," he went on, gesturing toward Dean. "Sammy had me keep an ear out for you, just in case. So, did you two kiss and make up, or is this a bad time? Seeing as to how you're so difficult to see without an appointment," he said, directing the remark at Castiel. There was something in his tone that bordered on disapproval.

He stiffened a little, looking more like the Castiel Dean knew. "You don't have any right to judge my actions, brother. I did what I felt I had to, just as you did."

The skin tightened around Gabriel's eyes, the only indicator that Cas had scored a hit. But then he gave a smooth smile. "Fair enough. I assume you called for me because you got Cas to help us with our plan?"

"Yeah, about that," Dean commented, a brow lifted. "What's the plan?"

To this Gabriel looked intrigued. "What? I didn't tell you? I thought asking about my horn would have been a clue. But then I remembered which Winchester I was talking to."

Before Dean could retort Cas gave a small sound of surprise.

Gabriel pointed at him. "See? He gets it."

"What?" Dean demanded irritably.

"He means to sound the horn," Cas said quietly. He met Dean's questioning gaze. "Doing so will bring about the end of the world."

Dean's eyes widened, and he shot Gabriel a swift look. His heart hammered in his chest. "You wanna start another Apocalypse?"

"Not me, Dean," he responded with another smile. "Sam."

* * *

"The Apocalypse."

Sam sat on the hood of the Impala, watching Dean pace back and forth. Every now and then he glanced at the doors where Gabriel and Castiel waited outside.

"The Apocalypse, Sam," Dean repeated sharply, and Sam's gaze went to him. "What the hell are you thinking? Didn't one Apocalypse screw this place over? Why kick start another?"

"I know you think it's crazy-"

"Damn right I do!"

Sam made a helpless gesture. "But look at it. It's not right. And, and with the angels letting you go it's time to do something about it. Fix it, like we were supposed to."

At this Dean halted mid-pace. "What?"

"You remember, don't you, Dean?" Sam managed, his voice wrought with emotion. His lower lip trembled, and he took a deep, shuddering breath. "I was going to trap Lucifer in the cage. I couldn't do it at first because he was too strong, but I wasn't giving up. I fought him tooth and nail, just like Bobby told me. But something went wrong. I failed."

Dean had to avert his gaze, unable to look at Sam's distress. It hardly mattered it hadn't been his actions that resulted in this world; the guilt, the shame, haunted him.

"No, Sam," he murmured. "You didn't fail. You didn't," he repeated at seeing Sam shake his head in his peripheral. He heaved a sigh. "There's something you should know about me, Sammy. I'm not...I'm not your brother."

Sam furrowed his brow. "What? Dean, don't joke about that," he chided.

Dean shook his head, offered a sad, helpless smile. "I wish I _was_ joking," he said, then proceeded to explain. Sam listened, wide-eyed and silent but for the little intakes of breath as the truth sunk in. When Dean finished he ventured for the cooler, flipped it open and withdrew the last two beers. As he turned to present one to Sam, he glimpsed Gabriel peering through the doors. His expression was unlike anything Dean had ever seen on him, not even when he defended Kali against Lucifer.

Sam wrung his hands between his knees. Again Dean couldn't get over how vulnerable he looked. "...all that- it's true, huh?"

Dean twisted the cap off. "Yeah," he said softly. He offered it to Sam. There was some hesitation before he accepted it. "I'm sorry, Sam. That son of a bitch Michael's still got his hands on your brother."

Sam's nod was almost imperceptible. He took a small sip, lowered the bottle to rest at his knee. He tapped the opening with a finger. "Then we have to get him back. He'd do the same for me. You'll help, won't you?" he asked. "I know it's not your world and all but-"

Dean smiled, laid a hand on Sam's shoulder, gave it a little shake. "There's no way in hell I'm blowing this popsicle stand without sorting things out. I can't leave you and Cas like this. I won't."

When Sam smiled, tears rolled down his cheeks. He hopped off the hood to draw Dean into his arms. They held fast to one another, Dean patting his pack as he murmured reassuring words. After a time he drew back to inspect Sam's face. He nodded to his questions, wiped at his eyes. Gabriel and Castiel returned, the former heading directly for Sam. As Gabriel drew him to the side Dean looked to Cas. He watched him with a mixture of joy and wistfulness.

"What?"

"I'm sorry," Cas said, smiling sadly. "I was just reminded of something _he_ said to us, once. That same spark is in your eyes. It's like I can believe anything."

Dean laughed a little to cover his embarrassment. "Well, we still gotta find out if it's really Michael that's going to visit."

"Balthazar was the one who told me. He has promised to keep an eye out."

"Good ol' Balthazar," Gabriel remarked as he joined them, Sam at his side. "Did he happen to tell you where my horn is?"

"I do not know its whereabouts, but I will ask him about it. I can't promise it will be recovered soon," Cas explained.

"Then maybe I should have a talk with him." There was a glint in Gabriel's eye. It faded when Sam squeezed his shoulder. Once again he smiled, as nonchalant as ever. "Okay, kids. What's the plan then? We can't do anything if we don't have the horn or a way to send Michael back to Heaven."

"You guys head back to Bobby's and fill them in on what's happening. Leave the rest to us," Dean said, nodding to Cas. He smiled, softly.

"What are you going to do?" Sam asked, worry creasing his brow.

To this Dean smiled. "I'm going to Purgatory. Crowley's got something of Cas's that he needs back if this plan is gonna work. And we need to get Balthazar on our side."

Gabriel saluted them. "Good luck with all that. Until tomorrow night, boys. Let's go, Sammy," he said, reaching out to circle him by the waist. Sam let out a little surprised sound when Gabriel slapped him on the ass before he grinned and snapped his fingers.

After they had gone Dean looked to Cas. He nodded, and without a word touched his shoulder. They vanished in an instant.

* * *

They reappeared in Castiel's room at the club. Dean cast a wary glance about as he stepped further in. "Is it secure here?"

"Yes." Castiel watched Dean peer into the bathroom, the walk-in closets and free standing wardrobe by the door. When he spoke his name Dean turned. "It's not going to be easy to steal my Grace back. Even I don't know where he keeps it."

"Knowing Crowley, it's in his office or something." There was a brief pause. "He _has_ an office, right?"

"On the top floor. I don't know where. He most likely has it concealed and protected from angels."

"Good thing I'm not an angel then," Dean remarked, a glimmer of humor in his tone. Cas smiled, recalled his Dean responding in similar fashion and felt the ache of missing him all the more.

After Dean had made a successful sweep of the rooms he started for the bed, checked himself at the last moment and sat on the sofa instead. As he tipped his head back Cas became aware of how weary he was.

"When was the last time you slept?" he questioned, coming round to stand behind the sofa.

Dean's laugh was brittle. "You know what? I honestly can't remember. Just running on empty this whole time," he explained, rubbing at his neck.

Cas didn't miss the pained wince. He was reaching for him before he even realized what he was doing. At his touch Dean started, but did not draw away.

"You can still heal? Oh," he said, seemingly surprised by his own reaction as Cas started to massage his neck. Little by little, his shoulders relaxed. "Hey, that's actually...um. Nice."

"I've learned a few things during my time here," Cas explained quietly. Already he could feel the knots smoothing away beneath his administrations. Dean made a soft sound of acknowledgment.

Cas's hands swept up and down the length of his neck, his fingers brushing against the back of his head to feel the softness of his hair. Dean had started to lean into the massage, his eyes closed and a look of contentment on his face. It took all of Cas's restraint not to lean over and nuzzle his brow, plant a kiss on the top of his head.

After a time Cas lowered his hands. He could still feel the warmth of Dean's skin on the underside of his palms, curled his hands into fists to hold onto it.

"Is that better?"

"Yeah, thanks," Dean said with a wide grin as he flexed his neck, rolled his shoulders. He turned on the sofa, bringing first one leg up, then the other, yawned as he leaned back. "Figure there's time to grab forty winks?" he questioned, his voice already drowsy.

"All right. I will wake you before Balthazar arrives," Cas promised, though he wasn't sure Dean heard him. It seemed the moment his head hit the arm rest he was out cold. A few seconds later he started to snore, very softly.

Castiel gazed down at him, his heart heavy with sorrow and regret at recalling how long it'd been since he last saw his Dean asleep. The last time he woke up next to him. With a sigh, he circled the couch and made not for the bed, but the nearby chair. There he sat down, his arms wrapped around his upright knees as he settled in to keep watch over Dean. When the memories started to unfold in his mind, he didn't stop them.


	6. Chapter 6

_Three years ago..._

_Castiel heard the low sound of what he identified as a ringing phone, but he made no attempt to answer it. Even had he wanted to, the arm coiled tightly around his chest made moving difficult if not impossible. He didn't mind. The room was dark, the bed warm and comfortable, but overall there was this sense of peace. Contentment. Not too long ago, Castiel would not have been able to imagine himself enjoying these feelings. To identify, let alone understand, what they meant. And it was all thanks to one man._

_Castiel burrowed his head deeper into the pillow, disregarding the slight lump beneath it as he closed his eyes. He recalled the previous day's events, the surprise at seeing Dean had personally come to pick him up. His having to remain silent during Dean's clever, elaborate tale explaining who Cas was and why he had been on that shrimping boat ("We had one hell of a bender, let me tell you. Bachelor party.") His overall happiness he wasn't alone in this strange place anymore. _

_They hadn't spoken much at the time. Well, nothing beyond Dean inquiring about his injuries or explaining what he, Sam and Bobby had been up to. It had started as a pretty straightforward visit; one concerned friend seeing to another. This was in evidence by the gentle way Dean assisted Castiel into the wheelchair, his careful maneuvering of the chair down the halls. The arm he had put about Cas's shoulders had been supportive, tender even, as he eased him into the car. Cas remembered mumbling a thank you to Dean before he drifted to sleep thanks to the medication. _

_His next memory was of him waking up in bed in a motel. He had no idea how much time had passed. The only thing that seemed to matter to him at all was seeing Dean sitting on the bed across from him, his hands folded between his knees. The look on Dean's face was hard to identify. It was with a slight start that Cas understood this was the first time they spoke face to face since Van Nuys. Seeing what his words had done to him prompted Cas to apologize again. _

"_I'm so sorry, Dean," he murmured. "I didn't realize-"_

"_Cas." There was a note of command in his voice. "You already apologized. And you were right. I deserved it. I needed to hear it. When that bastard Zachariah hurt Adam and Sam, and I saw Sammy's face, I couldn't stop thinking about what you said. About what Bobby said. There was no way in hell I was letting them win. So I did what I had to. End of story. Now," he went on, rising to take a seat beside Cas. He gazed down at him for some time. _

"_You gotta promise me something," he said at last. _

_Castiel didn't miss the way his tone softened. "What is it?"_

_For a moment it looked as if Dean struggled with what he was about to say. His throat flashed as he swallowed, and he drew in a deep breath. "The next time you decide to go kamikaze on me, tell me first, or else I might have to drag _your_ ass into an alley and beat you down." He laid a firm hand on Cas's shoulder, squeezed it. "You scared the hell out of me back there, Cas. When you went into that building, I didn't think I'd see you again."_

_Cas almost revealed that he had never intended on coming out, held back. He couldn't say such a thing, not when Dean gazed down at him like that. It was as poignant as the look they had shared the night before they tracked down Raphael's vessel. _

_So swept up by this revelation, and the incredible emotion behind it, Castiel recalled a moment very similar to this in a movie he had watched while in the hospital. It was what drove him to sit up, to reach for Dean's face. When Cas's hand cupped his cheek, he could feel the rough stubble against his palm. Felt Dean's body lean forward when Cas pressed a soft, gentle kiss on his mouth, felt him respond just as softly. _

_After Cas had drawn back to look into Dean's eyes he was met with a tiny, surprised smile. "...wow. Where did that come from?"_

"_I saw it in a movie," Cas admitted. "It seemed the appropriate response given the circumstances."_

_At this Dean chuckled lightly. But his eyes and smile were warm. "Yeah. Yeah it was. And so's this," he said, and, upon taking hold of Cas's face, drew it to his for another kiss. _

_The prolonged contact sent little pulses of warmth up and down Cas's body, reminding him again of his weakened state but also the joy to be had in feeling them. He wasn't aware that Dean had coaxed him back down until he felt his head sink into the pillow. The kiss had deepened, become a little more urgent, and Cas was sure it was with some reluctance that Dean finally drew away to rest his head on Castiel's chest. _

_As he felt Dean's arms gently slide under him, Cas mirrored the action by encircling his shoulders. He had just closed his eyes when he heard Dean whisper, "I won't let you down again, Cas." _

_Castiel smiled sleepily as the last of the memory retreated. Sounds had begun to drift into a distant echo, leaving nothing but the subtle intake of his breathing, of Dean's. The spell of sleep started to creep up on him again, and, as the arm around him tightened, he exhaled slowly and prepared to let himself go. _

_He must have been asleep for only a few minutes before he heard the phone ring again. There was a sleepy groan at his back, followed by a muttered curse. Cas lifted his head, just in time to feel Dean's arm graze his chin as he fumbled for the bedside table. _

_Partially leaning over Cas now, Dean took up the phone, pressed a button and put it to his ear._

"_...yeah, talk to me," he said, his voice still groggy from sleep. _

"_Dean?" Cas recognized Sam's voice on the other line. "Where are you?"_

"_Where do you think I am? A motel," he grumbled, sitting up and turning away. Castiel did the same; at seeing Dean had grabbed the jeans piled at the edge of the bed he deemed it appropriate to also dress. He winced slightly, for the medication had worn off. He fumbled for the small bottle of pills on the bedside table, as well as the glass of water Dean had left there for him. The presence of the first aid kit served to further remind him of his fragile physical state. _

"_I know," Dean was saying, a touch of impatience in his tone. He stood to draw the jeans up over his hips. "Hey, Cas was in no condition for a long car ride. I owed him at least a good night's sleep in a bed that wasn't in a hospital. Right. We'll be there ASAP." He hung up and dropped the phone onto the bed. When he turned round, he took in Cas's appearance. "How you feeling?"_

_Castiel drew on the white dress shirt, started to button it. "Hungry."_

"_That makes two of us." Dean rounded the bed to stand before him. He took over the buttoning of his shirt, his fingers quick and agile. "We'll just hit up a drive through on the way back to Bobby's. Got no time to stop and smell the roses."_

_As usual, Dean's slipping into human metaphors confused him. "What does hitting a drive through have to do with smelling roses?"_

_Dean paused for a moment, then laughed and shook his head. "Nothing. It's just- never mind," he said, leaning over to pick up Cas's tie. "You got this? I'm gonna take a quick shower."_

_The angel nodded, though in truth he had not quite mastered wearing the tie correctly. "Dean," he said as he picked up the little brown bag set on the dresser. "Thank you for coming to get me," he said, smiling a little. "I might not be much help with finding Pestilence, but I-"_

"_Cas," Dean interrupted, using the tone that indicated there was a lot of emotion he was trying to hold back. "Angel mojo or not, I'm just glad you're back." _

_With that, he disappeared into the bathroom, leaving Cas looking after him, the tie draped in his hands._

_An hour later the two were on the road, a paper bag sitting between them. Castiel had devoured two of the three breakfast sandwiches- much to Dean's amusement- and the hash browns- much to Dean's dismay- before easing back in the seat. He watched the scenery fly by, squinting slightly as the sun's brightness hampered his vision. The radio played a song that had Dean rhythmically tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. Every now and then his humming would turn to a few sung phrases before reverting to humming. Cas glanced over at him, seeing just how the song affected Dean. There was a glow about his face, as if all that weighed him down was stripped away. A similar glow existed in his soul, which had shone so brightly that Castiel could see it even in the deepest part of Hell. He experienced a brief pang of sorrow at the loss of seeing that soul shine._

_At feeling Cas's eyes on him Dean looked over. "What's wrong? Feeling okay?"_

_His response was automatic. "Physically I'm still sore, and that bug bite hasn't stopped itching even after the cream you gave me. The pain pills have taken the edge off. I enjoyed the breakfast sandwiches." _

_Dean smirked. "That's not what I meant."_

_Cas tilted his head. "You were referring to my feelings?"_

"_Yeah. You looked sad for a second back there."_

_He averted his gaze. "Yes. I suppose I was."_

_Dean waited. "Well?" he prompted. "What is it?"_

_Castiel looked at his hands. Noticed the few scratches on his fingers had started to heal. "When I had my powers, I could...see things. In nature, in places, and in- in people. I was missing it. That's all."_

"_Do you think you'll get your mojo back?" Dean asked softly. _

"_It's difficult to say. I've never had all my energy drained before. I'm...adjusting I suppose."_

_He glimpsed Dean's partial smile in his peripheral. He muttered something under his breath; Cas could only understand 'the other night' before he questioned Dean about it._

_A brief look of embarrassment crossed his face. "Nothing," Dean said swiftly, smiling as he rummaged through the box of cassette tapes next to the paper bag. "Anyway, I got just the cure for you."_

_Cas watched him inject the tape into the radio and raise the volume. "What is it?" he asked, then jumped slightly as the opening riff of a song echoed through the car. _

_Dean grinned and started to sing along, his hands drumming on the steering wheel. "Come on, Cas," he said at the song's first musical interlude. "You gotta know this song. You ready?"_

"_I don't understand, ready for what?" Cas asked, feeling both nervous and uncertain, far more than that night in Maine. _

_Dean only smiled and resumed singing, all the while gesturing for Cas to join him. _

_What began as a halting attempt at speaking along with the lyrics (with predictable grimaces from Dean) soon turned into a passable duet. And, in between gales of laughter and teasing remarks for his less-than-stellar singing voice ("I'm not of the choir, Dean; I was never meant to sing,") Castiel began to feel his sadness lift. He met Dean's eyes as they sang together, smiling as he did, saw as much as sensed the warmth, the joy, in his face. It was then he realized he had never needed his angelic powers to see the glow of Dean Winchester's soul. It was something he'd always see. Perhaps something he'd always _been _meant to see. And it made him happy._

* * *

"Castiel?"

At hearing his name Castiel woke with a start. It took him a moment to register he had fallen asleep in the chair beside the sofa, that the brightness outside indicated it was morning. Dean was still fast asleep, one arm flung over his head, the other dragging on the floor. At hearing the door open Castiel acted swiftly. He jumped up, snatched the sheet draped over the edge of the sofa and spread it over Dean. The material had just settled on his body when Balthazar strolled in.

"And another fine morning to you," he greeted cheerfully. He had a tray in one hand, a wine bottle in the other. "Ready to start another fun-filled day working for the King of Hell?" Balthazar paused, his gaze going from the empty bed to Cas, who stood behind the sofa. His brow lifted at seeing Dean. "Late night rendezvous?"

Castiel's throat went dry, and he swallowed. He knew that it was vital to get Balthazar's help if they were to obtain Gabriel's horn, but he experienced a brief want to keep Dean secret. In the three years they had been together, Balthazar had made it no secret that he believed Castiel's association with the Winchesters was anything but good. Dean in particular.

Knowing he needed time to properly introduce Balthazar to this circumstance, Cas gave a shrug. "Yeah. He was too drunk to go home. I'll get him out of here. We'll have breakfast when I return."

"Now, hold on just a second there," Balthazar said, setting the items down and approaching the sofa just as Castiel went to turn. There was interest in Balthazar's eyes, plus something else. Something that made Cas wary. When he saw where Balthazar's gaze rested, Cas understood.

The corner of the sheet had slipped, exposing Dean's face.

He tensed. "Balthazar, wait-"

But the angel had already wrenched the blanket off and took a step back. He immediately sought his back pocket, producing a white crystal Castiel recognized. In response he inserted himself in front of Dean, a hand out.

"Don't," he warned in a low voice.

"Don't what?"

The threat to Dean dredged up feelings of his former, wholly angelic self. "Listen to me," Cas began. "This isn't Michael. It's Dean." He heard the longing in his voice as he spoke the name, shook himself. "But he's not from here."

Balthazar lifted a brow. "What is he then, from the future? The past?" Alarm, and a bit of disbelief, crossed his features. "Did you bring him here? I know you've been distraught all this time but to do _this?_"

The comment brought on a brief memory of a low point in Castiel's life, shortly after he regained the full use of his powers and he had debated on going back in time to stop Michael. Only the fear that he'd fail again prevented him from doing it.

"I'm nowhere near strong enough to travel through time," Cas answered with a shake of the head. "This Dean is from another reality."

To this both Balthazar's brows lifted. "A second Dean Winchester. Well, this must a dream come true for you."

Dean chose that moment to wake up; at finding two angels staring down at him he jumped. "Dammit, is this a thing you angels like to do?" he grumbled, throwing the sheet off and easing into an upright position.

"Only because it brings us endless amusement," Balthazar drawled. "Hello there, alternate reality Dean. What kind of trouble are you going to make for us?"

At realizing who was addressing him Dean gave a tight smile. "Balthazar. Not as much as you were going to make for me," he countered, gesturing at the crystal still in Balthazar's hand.

His responding grin was sarcastic as he placed it back in his pocket.

Dean's gaze went to Cas. "Did you ask him?"

"Ask me what?" Balthazar said, glancing at Castiel.

After the explanations were done Balthazar traded glances with Cas and Dean, gave a half hearted laugh and said: "You're joking, right? Cas, are you hearing this? He's talking Armageddon. Again."

"Believe me, it's the last thing I wanna do," Dean defended. He rose from the sofa and approached the tray sitting on a table. At lifting the lid to reveal a short stack he made a pleased sound before taking up the utensils. Cas glimpsed Balthazar's affronted look in his peripheral.

"The way I see it, there's no other way to fix things," Dean went on through a mouthful.

"Fix things?" Balthazar repeated, a little incredulous. "And who says they're broken?"

This time Castiel sent his friend a shocked look. "Balthazar..."

"I don't know about you two, but things have never been better as far as I'm concerned. Don't you get it?" he asked, dividing his gaze between the two. "No one cares that I made off with all those weapons; _no one's at war_. Think about it, Cas: when was the last time we could say that?"

"It's true, it's been a long time," Castiel conceded quietly. "But things didn't pan out the way they should have. How it was written."

"And since when do you care about that?" Balthazar scoffed. "Look at you! Look at what you did. You're what inspired me to take my own path, Castiel."

He shook his head. "But I never encouraged you to steal."

"The price for stealing isn't so high or as profitable as selling is to me," Balthazar told him. "Collectors buy them from me- human, angel, demon,_ and _monster. The only thing they fight over is how much to pay me for it. So as to your little idea of saving this place?" He included Dean in his glance now. "You can both bite me." And with that Balthazar vanished.

Dean grunted. "_That _went over well. Dammit," he grumbled, throwing the fork and knife down. "I didn't think he'd agree right away. Not without some convincing anyway."

Cas eased onto the sofa, draped his hands between his knees. When Balthazar first appeared soon after his agreement with Crowley, he had believed he had come as a friend. Now, he wasn't so sure, and it hurt. "The surest way to convince Balthazar of anything is that he will be able to walk away unscathed," he sighed. "Sam's plan doesn't leave much room for that."

"Yeah well, we'll work on Balthazar later. I'm going after your Grace first. I'll feel a whole lot better knowing you're at full power. What we're going to do won't be easy."

"No. But then again, what is?"

For a moment Dean seemed taken aback. Then his brows lowered. "Hey. It's gonna _work_, all right?" he insisted. "Trust me."

That same conviction, that same passion, resided in Dean's eyes. Castiel pushed back the pain and betrayal the memory invoked and managed a smile.

"I trust you."

"Good." Dean's nod was firm. He resumed picking at Castiel's breakfast. "I'll finish up here and head out. You probably have, uh, things to do in the meantime. Getting ready for work, that kind of thing."

True, Castiel did have a regiment to stick to prior to the club's opening at night. Play rehearsal was one of them, as well as his daily report to Crowley. When he said as much Dean brightened.

"Perfect. I can sneak into his office while you're doing all that. We'll meet back here before your, um, shift starts. You with me?"

"Of course. But, Dean," Cas said, rising to his feet and crossing over to where he stood. Dean just finished off the last of the pancakes and was now washing it down with a glass of milk. "If it _is _Michael Crowley is expecting, we can't leave until I see him."

He set the glass down. "Not until you've got your Grace back," Dean stipulated. "Look, I saw what happened to yo- the Cas I know last time we tangled with an archangel," he corrected, Castiel not missing the catch in his throat. "I'm not about to let you do this without backup. Understand?"

Cas smiled, touched by just how much this Dean cared. "I understand." The echo of someone's laughter floating up the stairs reminded him of the time. "You'd better go. I have to get downstairs soon."

Dean nodded, wiped at his mouth with a napkin and hurried for the door. Cas watched as he gently pried it open to peer outside. Moments later he slipped out, softly closing it behind him.

Alone now, Castiel ventured for the bathroom to shower and change. His heartbeat raced with anticipation, and a little dread, at the prospect of seeing Michael- _Dean_- again. But, for good or ill, it would be worth it.


	7. Chapter 7

When Dean had first pitched the idea of sneaking to Crowley's office, he wasn't counting on the sheer size and scope of the place. And, as he surveyed the area from the curtained alcove, it became painstakingly obvious that this was not going to be easy.

Empty now but for a few employees cleaning the floor, dusting the curtains and restocking the bar, its size was even more apparent. Dean scowled as he looked from the front entrance to the back near where the stage was set up. Near as he could tell, he was on the third floor. Cas had said Crowley's office was on the top level, but as to how many floors were between him and his goal, he had no idea. But he needed to find it. Cas needed his Grace back. It wasn't just so he could stand a chance against Michael, or break away from this crazy place. Cas simply wasn't _Cas _without it.

Left with no choice but to start from this floor, Dean peered through the curtains to make sure no one was around and carefully stepped out. There was a lot of open space between the other curtained alcoves arranged around the floor; Dean could only hope that distance would prevent his being detected from across the way. Still he kept low, swiveling his head this way and that to check, and double check, he wasn't in anyone's line of vision.

As he continued on he found his thoughts going back to Cas, and the reasons that brought him to Crowley. His statement about Dean doing no less if their roles were reversed. Granted, Dean had done a lot of crazy shit in regards to those he cared about most, and never once did he regret it. In fact, he preferred it if he was the one taking all the hits. He knew his own limits, what he could withstand. Even Hell hadn't been able to break him quickly- though he despaired at knowing it _had _broken him. Introduced him to a part of himself he never wanted to know.

Maybe that was what happened to Cas. Events had pushed him to the brink, forcing him into choices he'd never otherwise consider. In this, Dean could relate. The decision to trade his soul for Sammy's life had been desperate, yes, but also necessary. Anything to prevent his brother from dying. Cas had effectively sold his soul for the same reason: love for another.

At this Dean felt himself smile slightly. It seemed he and this world's Castiel had a lot more in common than he realized. Of course, he had to wonder: what would _this_ world's Dean think about what Cas had done? Would it be the same mix of astonishment, hurt, betrayal and disappointment he experienced at learning Cas willingly sided with Crowley to get the souls from Purgatory? Or would it be worse?

The sudden shortness of breath took him by surprise, and Dean had to pause. All his speculation brought those memories back, leaving him momentarily paralyzed by the power they held over him. Over his heart. And with it all was that terrible ache of missing Castiel, of needing to know he was safe. Alive.

_Dammit, Cas, _he thought, gritting his teeth and pressing on. _You better be alive when I get the hell out of here. Just...be alive. _

Turning his thoughts to the mission, Dean used it to help ground himself in the present. He had neared the other side of the club, just past the stage and within sight of the cage where he saw Benny. From this vantage point Dean could see the posh seating area where Crowley had watched the play. If there were any entrances, they weren't out in the open. Dean kept moving along, glancing at the few alcoves he passed until he found a stairwell. It was just in time, too: a pair of demons manifested a short distance away. Just as they approached his position, Dean slipped through the doorway, unseen.

As he ascended the stairwell, he passed doors marking the fourth and fifth floor until coming upon the sixth. He smirked at Crowley's obvious pun on the demonic number, tested the door. When the knob turned he poked his head out. The exterior hall was empty. He could see Crowley's VIP box directly across the way. Satisfied he was nearing his goal, Dean emerged from the doorway. He hadn't gone more than a few paces when he heard someone whisper, 'Psst!'

Turning round, Dean glimpsed a hand frantically waving him over. Cautiously, he approached the doorway, his hand stealing for the pocketknife he had swiped off Bobby's table the other night. Casting a wary glance around, he slowly peered around the edge of the curtained doorway. The moment he saw who it was he relaxed.

"What the hell, Gabriel?" he demanded in a harsh whisper. "I thought you weren't going to be-"

Gabriel made a sharp gesture. Dean's words were choked off, and he grabbed at his throat.

"Oh, don't give me that surly look," Gabriel chided at Dean's glare. "Even when you whisper you're loud."

Dean shook a finger at him; Gabriel smiled, snapped his fingers. Their surroundings melted away, instantly replaced by what looked like a cluttered area backstage. The pressure on Dean's throat eased, and he exhaled loudly.

"There. That's better," Gabriel remarked casually. He took his ease on a wooden treasure chest, leaning back on his hands and letting his feet dangle.

"Why'd you take me here?" Dean asked, taking in the props, hanging scenery and sandbags suspended on ropes. "Are we backstage?"

"Yes to the second question, and it should be obvious for the first. You were getting a little too close to the sanctuary," he explained to Dean's scowl. "Crowley has the place locked down tight. Anyone gets within inches of the stairwell sets off all _kinds_ of hexes. I just saved you from being turned inside out. You should be thanking me."

Dean blew out a breath. Of course. Angel wards wouldn't be enough to keep the curious at bay. "All right then," he grumbled, leaning against the wall, his arms folded. "Since you know so much about Crowley's traps why didn't you say anything to me last night?"

"I didn't know about them until this morning. That brother of yours could sweet talk a saint into sin," he remarked with a slow smile.

Dean could feel the want to throttle the archangel rising within him, fought it off. Instead he managed a grim smile. "Good ol' Sam," he said through clenched teeth. "What did he find out? And where is he?"

"I left him with the demons. Don't you worry, they won't hurt him. They think he's one of them. Anyway, there's a special key that unlocks the stairwell. One of Crowley's bodyguards carries it."

"Okay, great. Just tell me who the bodyguard is and I'll lift it off him."

"Ah ah ah, not so fast," Gabriel said, wagging his finger. "Crowley's bodyguards are different every day. I couldn't tell you who it was by name, but the key he has gives off a certain...aura if you will."

Dean nodded. "Like what? EMF?"

"More like a sound. Too low for normal humans to hear. Hey, not even the angels can hear it. But there are two types who _can_: those who serve Hell, or-" He paused for effect.

Dean saw where this was going, and his brows lowered. "Anyone's who been in Hell," he murmured. The moment he acknowledged this the flashbacks began to creep up on him. Brief glimpses of red haze, the sharp sting of pain, the iron taste of blood, the shrill scream of the tormented. He pushed back the discomfort, nodded. "Does Sam know where the bodyguard will be?"

"I was just about to show you," Gabriel replied with a smile. He slid off the treasure chest and started down the cluttered hall. "And something else, too. Something real important."

"Yeah? What?"

"No, no." Gabriel lifted a hand. "It'll spoil the surprise."

As he walked off Dean reached for the back of his head, as if he wanted to crush it between his hands, before clenching his fists and following suit.

"Now," Gabriel went on, weaving his way through props and other items in their path. "Remember Balthazar mentioning the angels coming to visit?"

Dean ducked beneath a section of scenery Gabriel had simply stepped under. "What about it?"

Gabriel stopped at the end of the corridor. "So," he said, drawing back the heavy curtain. "I thought you'd like to see this."

Dean smirked at the archangel. He jerked his chin toward the opening, and, with a sigh, Dean peered through. The instant he spotted none other than Raphael sitting in the audience, he quickly ducked out of sight.

"Son of a bitch," he swore. "When did he get here?"

"This morning."

"What the hell is he doing then? Waiting for the show to start?" Dean demanded irritably.

"He wants to make sure the play is good enough for Michael." Gabriel snorted. "Which means I'm probably going to have to spend all day performing for them."

Dean shot him a glance. "If the Teenage Mutant Ninja Angel is here checking out the play, then that means Michael's gonna be here soon," he said in a rapid undertone.

"Tonight, maybe tomorrow. So if I were you, I'd sniff out that key and be quick about it."

Dean peeked through the curtain again. Raphael was leaning over to speak to one of the suited men beside him- most likely an angel- as a woman approached him with a drink. Some other employees were milling about, but it was the three demons standing guard near the back that drew his eye. He glanced back at Gabriel, nodded curtly. Gabriel vanished with a snap of the fingers.

He spent a few moments surveying the seating area as he tried to determine the best route to take. There was a lot of open space to cover. It was then he heard a pair of doors open. Looking to the right, Dean watched a group of musicians gradually make their way to the orchestra pit. As he watched their trek take them past one of the guards, an idea came to mind. He double checked to make sure Raphael's gaze was still on the stage before he made a break for it.

After clearing the edge of the stage he dropped to his haunches behind a line of seats. From here he saw Gabriel- or, to be more precise, 'Sam'- appear on stage. He clapped his hands, calling loudly for the stage hands to get to work. Whether it was meant to be a diversion or not, Dean didn't care; the fuss Gabriel made was enough for him to clear the far right of the orchestra pit just as the musicians filed in. It was sheer luck none glanced in his direction.

Now hidden among the aisle seats, Dean peeked over the nearest one in search of one of the demons. Part of him wished he had the demon knife; it'd make taking the key that much easier. Of course, if any of the other demons caught him in the act he'd be screwed. With nothing to rely on but stealth- an admittedly rusty talent- Dean started up the aisle. Keeping low to the ground was starting to make his thighs ache, and he ignored the pain as readily as he had everything else while fighting in Purgatory. There was only the goal to this mission. It was all that mattered.

But when some inexplicable sense drew his attention back toward the stage, he found his pace slowing, then stopping, at seeing Castiel emerge from the side door. The sight of that beige trench coat shook him to the core. Given the way he tensed at seeing who sat in the audience, Dean knew this meeting was not going to be a pleasant one. Though he knew time was of the essence, he was compelled to watch events play out.

* * *

It was a shock to see Raphael. Castiel could not deny that. Nor could he deny the anger rising within him. He never forgot it was Raphael who killed him that night. As the other angel's dark eyes raked over him slowly, and with something resembling disdain, Castiel prepared himself for battle.

"Castiel." His voice was a rich baritone edged with contempt. "I knew Crowley had taken in those fallen from Heaven, but I had no idea even he could bear to sully his hands on the likes of you."

He drew himself up despite the insult. "And so Michael asks you to mingle with filth, and here you are. I guess that makes us alike."

The two angels at his side leaned forward, as if to rise. Castiel ignored them.

At this Raphael's eyes narrowed. "You dare compare yourself to me? You're not even an angel anymore; you are less than a human, less than a demon," he snarled. "I should like to wipe you from the face of this world, if only to lend to its purification."

A tiny smile tugged at Castiel's lips. "You did it once before. It didn't work."

"A mistake I do not intend to make again," Raphael warned, rising to his feet. The two angels followed suit, producing angel blades.

There was a little clearing of a throat from the back of the room. Both angels looked to Crowley's approach. He strolled down the aisle, glass in hand, a little smile on his face. "Need I remind you, Raphael? I have a strict policy about mishandling my property. And that one, right there," he said, gesturing toward Cas with his drink. "Well, he's the most expensive piece in my collection. Irreplaceable in fact. Or do I tell Michael you disrespected his orders? I've got him on speed dial." He produced a phone for emphasis.

Raphael's displeasure was evident in the way his eyes narrowed. He gestured to the two angels, who relaxed. Angel blades vanished from their hands.

"I do not need a demon to remind me of my orders," he retorted. "For those orders are the only thing keeping me from leveling this den of iniquity."

Crowley had reached the center of the aisle by now. He hadn't lost his easy smile. "Oh, come now, there's no reason for name calling. Not after how well things have gone for us these past few years. Wouldn't you say?"

Raphael's eyes flashed. It was with an effort that he kept his temper. "What of this play you have arranged for Michael?" he asked, his tone rigid, business-like.

In response Crowley gestured to Cas. He acknowledged the command with a small nod, cast a final, angry glance Raphael's way before heading for the stage. As he ascended the stairs he caught Gabriel's eye. He winked at him as they passed one another. Castiel disappeared behind the curtain just as Gabriel, disguised as Sam, went into detail about what they were about to.

Alone now, he abruptly realized how much he was shaking. It was so violent he had to brace himself against the wall. Pressing a hand to his mouth, he squeezed his eyes shut, tried to command his body to be still. It wasn't facing off against Raphael that distressed him so, or the archangel's insults. It was the burning reminder that for the time being, he belonged to Crowley. And with it, the memory of how it all came to be.

* * *

_Three years ago..._

_The flames had just receded into the bowl when a familiar voice drawled, "Well, now: this is a surprise. When I was promised a holy audience I didn't think it'd be with you."_

_Castiel stepped away from the table where the bowl sat to stand across from the newly appointed King of Hell. He was grateful for the return of his powers; it made assuming a neutral expression much simpler. It did little to suppress the riot of emotion writhing within him. This terrible aching was a wound that refused to heal no matter how much time passed. It haunted him as surely as the memories._

"_I didn't summon you on anyone's behalf but my own."_

_To this Crowley lifted an intrigued brow. "Really? And why is that? Ah, yes," he said, the smile indicating he had seen right through Castiel. "Sentiment. For a certain, shall we say, person formerly of this plane and currently of a higher one?" He chuckled at his own joke._

_Castiel's hands tightened into fists. Still he kept his face neutral._

_Crowley gave a slight, amused smile. "Giving me the silent treatment only makes your intentions more obvious. It __is__Dean Winchester that you're doing this for; at least pay me the courtesy of being honest. We can't conduct business otherwise."_

_The angel conceded Crowley's argument with a nod. There was no point in trying to hide it. Crowley had learned of things prior to their departure for Chicago. "I want you to bring Dean here."_

_The King of Hell seemed taken aback. "You must be desperate if you think my flight clearance is better than yours."_

"_Can you or can't you?" Castiel growled._

_He received an impatient sigh and partial eye roll in response. "Really, Cas, if you're going to be rude about it I might have to turn you down. Now," he went on, taking a step toward him, slowly. Cas's head turned to follow his movements, his eyes narrowed, jaw set._

_By now Crowley stood alongside him. A wry smile played upon his face. "The question you should be asking is why __would__ I?" _

"_I don't understand."_

"_A common problem with you," Crowley riposted smoothly. He brushed past Cas, spread his hands before him. "Things have changed since Michael put the stop to Lucifer. The angels went back to Heaven, the humans are left with questions and the demons- with my help, of course- are poised to really make a difference. I'm looking at a boom in business, you see," he said, turning to face Castiel. "I'm not about to muck it up because an angel is pining for the human he lost."_

_During his recital Castiel's heartbeat had nearly tripled in pace. Echoes of the feelings and sensations he had experienced while in his near-human state enabled him to define it as anxiety, fear. Desperation. _

"_Then send me to Heaven. You can exorcise me from this vessel."_

_Crowley's answering smile was pitiable. "You poor, unfortunate- well, I can't say __soul__ now can I?" he said with a slight chuckle. "Can't do that either. I want to establish communication with Michael. __Civilized__ communication. Sending you packing is counterproductive to my interests. You're not exactly Heaven's most favored son."_

_Cas's breathing escalated now, matching his rapid pulse. His thoughts raced. "Then- then I will help you," he blurted out._

_Crowley peered at him. "Come again?"_

"_I'll help you," Cas repeated. He nodded, feeling more sure of himself now. "Whatever it is you're planning to do. No questions asked."_

_For a moment Crowley's expression was one of genuine curiosity. "Won't helping a demon- me, specifically- put you at odds with everyone else?"_

_There was a brief pang of regret for where this course of action would take him. Castiel shook it off and nodded again. "This isn't about them. This is between you and I," he stated. "They don't have to know."_

_A moment passed, two, as Crowley considered Castiel's words. "You're serious," he said with a touch of surprise. "And all this for Dean Winchester?" _

_When Castiel averted his gaze Crowley heaved a sigh. _

"_He did a number on you, mate. Rather poor reflection on your taste and preferences, if you must know."_

_Castiel lifted his head. He wouldn't, couldn't, let Crowley see how his insults were affecting him. "Do we have a deal?"_

_Crowley chuckled lightly. "No deals will be made until we discuss payment. Speaking of which, you _do_ realize the currency I deal in."_

_Cas briefly looked away. "...yes," he murmured. _

"_So what can an angel offer that's as valuable to me as a human soul? Hmm? Tick, tock, Castiel," he added with a little flourish. "I don't have all day to wait while you search for the answer." _

_But Castiel wasn't searching for the answer. He had retreated, briefly, to that painful memory of Dean lying on the ground. Again saw his ashen face, the stubborn set of his jaw. Even through the pain of having his abdomen sliced open, there was still that defiant spark in Dean's eyes. But when Michael leaned in close to whisper to him, and that defiance gradually gave way for resignation, Cas knew it was not the answer he sought, but the __reason__. And he was willing to do anything to get it._

"_Angels don't possess souls," he began, quietly. He lifted his gaze to Crowley's just as he produced the angel blade. He lifted it, slowly. The overhead light shone along its length. "But we have something that is just as valuable." _

_Crowley looked truly interested for the first time since this meeting began. "And is Dean Winchester equal to what you're about to trade, angel?"_

_In response Castiel drew up his left sleeve and dragged the blade across his forearm. A red seam appeared on his skin, illuminated by the glow of his Grace. He then extended his arm toward Crowley. _

_There was a pause before Crowley smiled, shook his head at some private thought. "So the angel trades his wings for legs. One for the story books." He gestured, and a small vial appeared in hand. Cas's Grace streamed from his wound into the bottle like smoke, its bright, white glow concealed when Crowley palmed it._

_Weakened now, Cas braced himself against the table, head bowed, chest heaving. The blade trembled, very slightly in his hand. He heard Crowley's footsteps as he approached him. At feeling a pair of fingers at his chin, he turned his head at the prompt. When the King of Hell sealed the deal with the traditional kiss, it took all his restraint not to push him away. _

_Once the kiss concluded Crowley drew back to smile at Castiel. "Let's get started then, shall we? Partner?"_

* * *

"Feeling a bit of stage fright, are we?"

Castiel gave a start and turned.

Crowley leaned against the wall, one ankle crossed over the other, hands in his pockets. He smiled as he took in Castiel's distress. "Much more than that? Oh, no, don't favor me with an answer," he said, waving off Cas's words. "But all that was very interesting."

"What do you mean?"

"You, standing up to Raphael. If I didn't know any better, I'd say something has inspired you."

Cas's heart skipped a beat, but he managed to keep his face neutral. "Like what? You heard him. I've fallen so far I'm lower than a demon to him. I've got nothing."

"No," Crowley said, leaning away from the wall. He closed the distance between the two, smiled up at him. "You found something. Dare I call it, hope? Well, whatever it is use it," he went on, as if this were nothing more than a pleasant chat between friends. "The show's been wretchedly boring of late."

Before Castiel could respond Crowley was gone. Now that he was alone again, Cas couldn't shake the feeling that somehow, some way, Crowley knew about Dean, and what they had planned. With no way to confirm the suspicion or get word to Dean, all Cas could do was hope that, this time, everything would happen the way it was meant to.


	8. Chapter 8

While Dean felt it necessary to go backstage to check on Cas (he hadn't looked so good after that encounter with Raphael) he didn't have the time. Resolving to ask about how he was doing later, Dean turned away. After spotting the nearest demon bodyguard, he started up the aisle again.

The demon was distracted by the happenings on stage, giving Dean the perfect opportunity to dart into the open doorway at the back of the room. As he peered over to gauge the distance between them, he became aware of a faint humming in the back of his head: the key. It was a strange sensation, like a cross between knowing when someone was watching you and the feeling you weren't alone in a room. The sensation increased as he gradually slid along the wall. Standing behind the demon now, Dean's ears ringing with the sound the key made, he spotted it hanging out of the other's pocket and snatched it. As soon as it was in hand he ducked into the nearest stairwell.

Exhaling his relief, Dean glanced at the rather ordinary-looking iron key, shrugged and shoved it into his pocket. He then hurried up the stairs until reaching the sixth floor. As he set foot into the hall he heard the orchestra strike up a tune. Gabriel, still disguised as Sam, just appeared on stage and leered at the small audience. The few employees milling about the upper floors had turned to watch and listen. Dean wasted no time in using it to his advantage.

Once he reached the other side of the floor he felt the key vibrate. It increased as he drew nearer the right stairwell. Dean took it in hand, watching as the key's close proximity to the entrance highlighted all the wards and hexes surrounding it. He inserted the key, carefully turned it. The lock gave, and the door swung open on its own. He greeted this with a little grunt. Typical Crowley.

A small set of stairs rose up ahead. After ascending the landing he saw the stairs opened into a long hall. The decorations here were as weird as the rest of the place, complete with portraits of Crowley. At seeing one of him in a Nazi-esque uniform Dean made a face at it and moved on.

After passing through an open doorway he found himself standing in what could be none other than Crowley's office. Dean spared the interior a single glance before he moved toward the desk. He rifled through the drawers, the papers scattered on its surface. He paused long enough to sample a glass of whiskey from the sideboard (damn good stuff, too) before searching the bookcases. As he pushed titles aside he frowned. Where would Crowley put an angel's Grace? He had half expected it to be a paperweight or in a trophy case. At finding a lock box on the bottom shelf he grinned. Bingo.

He had just laid a hand on it when a voice said from the doorway, "I think what you're looking for is right here."

Dean spun on his heel and found Crowley standing there, a small vial propped between his thumb and forefinger. He wore a small, easy smile, as if he were expecting this meeting.

He thrust his hand out. "Hand it over, Crowley," he ordered gruffly.

"Sorry, mate," he replied, slipping the vial into his suit jacket. "The angel's Grace isn't up for negotiation."

"Dammit, you son of a bitch, give it-"

Crowley made a bored gesture. Dean was automatically thrown into the chair by the desk. He sat up, struggled at the feel of invisible bonds. He watched as Crowley calmly strode into the office, his hands in his pockets.

"Dean Winchester. Been a long time, hasn't it? Or," he said as he peered into Dean's face, his eyes searching his. He smiled. "Not at all, in fact. You're not from this reality."

"Says you," Dean grumbled, wishing he could take a swing at the King of Hell.

"I do," Crowley assured him. He took in the splash of whiskey on the sideboard, shook his head as he plucked the glass Dean had sipped from and tossed it into the trash. He twisted the cap off to pour a helping into the remaining glass. "It's not just the stench of decay, blood and dirt sticking to you, either. You're here by accident, aren't you?"

Dean smirked. "What the hell makes you think I'll tell you anything?"

"The same presumption that you expect of me to just hand over what's rightfully mine," Crowley riposted. He settled into his chair and smiled as he sipped his drink. "Don't insult my intelligence, Dean: I've known you've been here the moment you blundered your way into my club. And since baby brother wouldn't send you up here tearing my office apart, it's Castiel."

"Okay, fine," Dean conceded through clenched teeth. "Yeah, I'm here for Cas. Let him go."

"And why should I?" Crowley countered. "He's brought in more business than any of my boys. None of them have quite the sex appeal he does. Then again, you would know all about that, wouldn't you? Or at least you would if you were the prince to his mermaid," he said, punctuating the remark with a little smile.

Dean thought about how much pain and suffering Cas endured since his other self agreed to let Michael wear him, and felt his temper rise. It was with some effort he pushed it back. "You just gonna talk all day or are we gonna deal?"

"Deal?" Crowley gave a derisive snort. "What could you give me? Your soul? Not a good bargaining chip. There's more filth clinging to it than what you're carrying around on your clothes. There's also the small matter of you not being of this reality. You're not an asset, Dean; you're a liability. And I eliminate liabilities."

Before Dean could come up with a retort the phone on Crowley's desk rang. He picked it up with a sigh. "What part of _I'm busy_ do you not understand?" The look of impatience faded after a moment, and his brow lifted. "Is that so. Interesting. Do away with the wards and send him in." After hanging up he glanced back at Dean. "Our chat will have to wait. I've other business to attend to."

Dean didn't get any further than Crowley's name before the King of Hell gestured, sending the chair across the room. The next thing he knew, he had been shuffled to the closet across the way. The doors slammed in his face. Dean found he could move in the seat, but his attempt to open the closet went nowhere. Trapped, he punched the wall in frustration and leaned back. He drummed his fingers on his knee. But at hearing the office door open, followed by a familiar voice, Dean peered through the vents with renewed interest.

He watched, awestruck, as Crowley rounded the desk to shake hands with a tall man in a black suit. When he sat down, enabling Dean to get a good look at his face, the hair, and the neatly trimmed beard, his mouth dropped open.

_Son of a bitch. It's my Mirror Verse twin. _

"Such a pleasure to meet face to face again," Crowley was saying. He had taken it upon himself to pour two drinks, slid a glass in front of his guest. "It's been, what, three years?"

"If this were a pleasant visit, I would be more inclined to reminisce," Michael replied, pushing the glass aside.

Dean couldn't get over how cold and automated his voice sounded when Michael used it. There was absolutely no emotion beneath it.

Crowley smiled, as if he wasn't at all bothered by the remark, or the direct refusal of refreshment. "You have me there. So, shall we get down to business then?"

"Yes." Michael folded his hands on his lap, studied them for a moment before looking up at Crowley. "I want to bring Castiel home."

Dean had a feeling his face mirrored Crowley's, though the King of Hell hid his confusion behind a lifted brow. "I wasn't aware he was welcome."

"Things have changed now that I have had the time to sort things out," Michael went on. "For years, we have turned a blind eye to the happenings in this establishment. We have enabled you to operate uncontested."

"I'm sorry, you _enabled _me?" There was no denying the insult in Crowley's voice.

"Further," Michael continued, as if the demon hadn't spoken. "You are in direct violation of our original agreement."

A muscle worked in Crowley's cheek. "Are you suggesting I did not stay true to my word?" he asked in a low voice.

"The agreement was to bring balance to the souls destined for Heaven or Hell. For every soul bound for Heaven, one would go to Hell. My father had always intended for us to be a check on each other's power, and your deal with Castiel has tipped the balance. Things cannot go on this way."

Crowley set his glass down, a little harder than he probably intended. "Your plan is to break a legal, binding contract between the kitten and I, just so you can achieve your balance." He made a little sound of disgust. "Are you certain it's just the balance you want back, or my pet angel? Forgive me- _your _pet angel."

Dean couldn't be sure, but he swore he saw something pass across Michael's face. It was gone as quickly as it came.

Michael's smile was small yet threatening. "I am willing to let this dishonor on our arrangement go. All I require is that you surrender Castiel to me. For if you do not, I will see to it personally that this establishment is razed to the ground, and you and yours returned to the Pit where you belong."

There was a tense moment. Dean found he was holding his breath; he wasn't exactly in the best place to be should these two decide to throw a few punches.

At last Crowley smiled. It was strained, sure, but he kept his cool. "Let's not rush to such drastic conclusions just yet. Stay awhile. Enjoy the entertainment. On the house, of course," he added. "Castiel has several appointments to keep tonight. Surely you can agree to letting him fulfill those little contracts. I do so like to run a..._balanced_ business."

Despite himself, Dean smiled at Crowley's little stab at Michael. Just about the only thing he had in common with the King of Hell was an extreme dislike of haughty angels.

In response, his evil twin lifted his chin. "As you wish. We will reconvene after Castiel is finished." He rose to his feet. "I expect you will do the right thing."

Crowley answered with a little smile. "Don't we all," he remarked.

Michael favored him with a curt nod and vanished. Once he had gone Crowley looked to the closet. The doors swung open, and for a moment Dean half expected to be dragged across the floor. Instead he found Crowley watching him expectantly.

"Well?" he prompted. "Are you coming out of the closet?"

It took Dean a moment to understand he was the butt of Crowley's idea of a joke, and he smirked. Warily, he rose to his feet. When Crowley made an impatient gesture Dean strode out.

"Little trouble with your arrangement with the angels, huh?" he said, unable to keep from the jab.

Crowley gave him a tight smile. "Charming, as always."

"So what the hell was that about? Is Cas really tipping the scales?"

"In a word." Crowley appeared thoughtful. "Tell me, Dean: what do you think about Heaven?"

The question confused him. "What are you talking about?"

The King of Hell sighed irritably. "The angels' humble and overall boring abode. _Heaven_, you moron. Would you be willing to play a game of bait-and-switch with the clouds?"

Dean still didn't understand. "What happened to getting rid of me?" he asked.

"Circumstances have changed," Crowley replied. "Well? Are you interested?"

As the implications of what Crowley offered registered, Dean narrowed his eyes. "Are you saying you wanna use me? Make me pretend I'm Michael?" He laughed. "That's- well that's crazy," he said forthrightly. "Even for _you_, that's crazy. What are you gonna do, give me a Red Bull?"

"As usual, Dean, you lack imagination." Crowley turned to pour another drink. "I'm going to switch your bodies."

Dean balked. "Oh no. No, no, no," he told him firmly. "I saw what that witchy stuff did to Sam and I'm not gonna let you do it to me."

Crowley turned to level Dean with a look. "Let me put it to you this way: you do this, and all our problems are solved. I'll even release the kitten to you. You don't, I send Castiel upstairs with Michael, and all our problems are solved. Either way, I win."

Dean's hands clenched. He could feel the want to take a swing at Crowley threatening to take over. The King of Hell smiled, waited for an answer.

"I say no, you make Cas pay. Why not take it out on me?" Dean demanded.

"Because you don't matter. Because it's not as much fun. Your choice."

Unable to look at him any longer, Dean turned away, ran his hand down the length of his face. He stared at the stack of books on the edge of the desk, his thoughts racing. Suddenly he was reminded of the encounter in the Green Room, Zachariah's ultimatum. Then, it had been Sam's and Adam's lives that had hung in the balance. Now it was Cas's. Dean couldn't let the angels have him. He couldn't let Crowley have him either.

"I do this, you'll free Cas from his contract?"

He could feel Crowley's eyes on him, almost see his smile. "Yes."

Dean's jaw tensed, and he turned round. "No tricks? No hidden surprises?"

Crowley took on an affronted look. "I have a little something called integrity, Dean."

"Right. Integrity," he repeated, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "Give me his Grace back, and I'll do it."

There was a brief moment where Crowley just watched him. Then he produced the vial from his inner pocket. "This is usually the time I'd make a literary reference but I doubt you'd understand." He extended his hand, the vial laying on his open palm.

Dean reached for it, hesitated. He then snatched it with a muttered curse. Dammit, he promised Cas he'd help him. What did it matter if he had to strike a deal with the devil to do it. At seeing Crowley take a step toward him he thrust a finger in his face.

"You're crazy if you think I'm gonna kiss you."

"Your loss," Crowley countered with a dismissive shrug. He gestured, and the door opened. "I'll send one of my boys to collect you when the time is right."

Dean gently slid the vial into his pocket. He gave a nod and started for the door. He had just passed through when Crowley called his name.

"I wouldn't recommend double-crossing the King of Hell," he advised in mild tones. He smiled, saluted Dean with his glass. "Toodles."

Dean scowled, turned on his heel and kept walking. As he continued on a tiny smile curled his lips. Double-crossing the King of Hell _and _Michael was precisely what he was going to do.

* * *

There were more employees present by the time Dean reached the bottom floor. Those that glimpsed his passage just looked away. Dean didn't doubt for a moment that the word had already spread down the demon grapevine. Glad that he wouldn't have to sneak around, he continued on toward the stage. He didn't see Raphael or the other angels in the audience.

As he went down the aisle he caught Gabriel's eye, gestured for him to meet him backstage. Gabriel acknowledged his summons with a small nod and turned away. Dean had just ascended the steps when he heard Sam call his name.

"Dean!" Sam hurried toward him, hugged him tightly. When he drew back he looked down into his face, his brow furrowing. "Did you get the key?"

"That and a little more," he answered. He paused, took in Sam's slightly reddened face. "Dude, where the hell have you been? You smell like a cheap bar."

Sam laughed sheepishly. "The demons were buying me drinks," he explained. "We were playing pool."

Dean gave an approving nod. "Hustling, huh?"

"Just like you- I mean, Dean showed me," Sam answered with a smile. "Best way to get information, too. Those demons don't like to lose," he added, and Dean laughed. "Where are you going?" Sam asked after their laughter subsided. Excitement shone in his eyes. "You got Cas's Grace?"

"Yeah. Do you know where he is? I want to give this to him first."

"Castiel would gladly accept whatever you give to him, Dean," Gabriel remarked slyly, and the brothers turned to find him sitting on the edge of the stage. He winked at Sam, then looked to Dean. "He's backstage in case you're wondering. First thing's first: did you get a chance to talk to Balthazar?" After Dean had explained their meeting Gabriel scowled. "Typical. I still think I should talk to him."

"Sorry, Gabriel, but I don't wanna scare him off," Dean countered. He thought a moment. "Sam, Bobby's got a stash of holy oil?" At his the other's nod he glanced at Gabriel. "Cas told me Balthazar helps him get ready. Get me some of that oil. I'll take care of the rest. Trust me," he added with a smile. "I've bargained with that guy before."

"You got it," Sam assured him. "Gabe, can you bring the oil to him?"

"For you, anything," Gabriel replied with a smooth smile. He was gone with a snap of the fingers.

Alone, Dean turned to Sam. "Sammy, I gotta ask again: how _exactly_ did you two hook up?" For a second it looked as if Sam was going to give him an explanation. Dean held up his hand. "You know what? Forget it. I don't think I wanna know."

Sam just shrugged.

Gabriel reappeared, a jug in hand. Dean didn't miss the way he handed it off, as if it would bite him. He accepted it with a nod. "All right. I'm gonna talk to Cas; as soon as he's powered up we'll meet at the barn to talk."

"Oh, there's one more thing," Gabriel said just as Dean went to walk off. "I saw Raphael talking with Michael earlier."

"What? Michael's here?" Sam gasped, dividing his glance between Dean and Gabriel.

But Gabriel wasn't watching Sam. Part of Dean suspected that all angels were capable of that soul stare Cas was so damn good at. Unlike with Cas, Dean didn't feel at all compelled to tell the truth. Not yet, anyway.

"If he's here then that means we gotta move," he stated briskly. He nodded to Gabriel, gripped Sam's shoulder and took his leave.

The area backstage looked even more cluttered than before. As Dean maneuvered his way through the tight corridors, he realized he had no clue if he'd just find Cas standing around, or if he had another dressing room down here. Luck, or that same, inexplicable pull that always seemed focused around them, had them nearly run into one another just as Dean turned the corner. For a moment they stared at each other before Dean shook off the surprising ache at missing the angel he knew and smiled.

Castiel's expression turned interested. "Were you successful?"

Dean was just about to answer when someone called Cas's name. He glanced past Dean, laid a hand on his forearm. "Wait here," he instructed. There was something about his tone that got Dean's attention. "I'll be right back."

"Sure, but-" Dean stopped, for Cas had already gone off. He stood there for a moment, tapping the side of the jug before muttering, "Screw this," and went after Cas.

Others appeared from all corners it seemed, each emerging to take their place on the stage. Dean stood in the shadows, angling his head past the edge of the curtain. Gabriel, again disguised as Sam, was already on the stage. When he turned round, his eye caught Dean's, and he slowly shook his head. Dean frowned, not understanding.

By now Castiel had joined the crowd. He stood a little ways from the others assembled there, but when he looked to the audience, and his face paled, Dean saw the reason.

Crowley, a pleasant smile on his face, stood beside Raphael and Michael. He was talking about the play, only Dean wasn't listening. He kept watching Castiel. Saw the angel's hands tremble when Michael's gaze rested on him. Found his hands had tightened on the jug in response.

Michael broke away from the others to approach the stage. Though he directed his questions at Gabriel- who Dean saw visibly tense as the archangel spoke- Michael's eyes never strayed from Castiel. He appeared more and more drawn as the minutes passed. Michael ended his discussion by shaking hands with all the employees. When it came time to greet Cas, he laid a light hand on his shoulder, leaned over to whisper to him. Dean would have given anything to hear what his evil twin told the angel; judging from the way Castiel tensed, it wasn't good.

After Michael strode away, and Crowley signaled to the others, Castiel departed the stage with almost indecent haste.

"Hey," Dean called as Cas brushed past him. He turned, tried to grab at his shoulder, missed. "Hey! Cas! Wait!" He broke into a run. "Cas!"

When he rounded the corner he found Cas leaning against the wall, his back to him, shoulders slumped. Dean encouraged him to face him. He couldn't help but react to the raw anguish in Cas's eyes, the panic.

"What the hell did he say to you? Come on, man, talk to me!"

Cas's eyes were fixed on the ground. He looked like someone who had just woken from a nightmare. "I didn't...I didn't think..."

"Cas, look at me," Dean insisted. He took hold of his shoulder. "Buddy, it's all right. I got your Grace. Crowley's gonna let you go. I've got a plan for Balthazar too. All we- Cas!" He shook him. Cas blinked and gazed up at him, as if seeing him for the first time. Dean tried not to think about how lost he seemed.

"Cas," he said, softly. Their eyes met. "What did Michael say?"

"He...he..." Slowly, Castiel shook his head. He then pushed Dean's hand off his shoulder, murmured, "I'm sorry," and vanished.

Once he was alone Dean swore. He immediately set off for the exit.

_Come on, Cas. Don't lose it on me now!_


	9. Chapter 9

Castiel was shaking as he pulled open the heavy car door and crawled into the backseat. His vision blurred, cleared when he blinked the tears away. In all the years of wanting and waiting, he hadn't prepared himself for this. Could not have prepared himself for this. And now that it had happened, it wasn't at all like he pictured.

More tears came, trailing down his face to fall onto his hands. He laid down with a distraught sound, his arms coiling tightly around the pillow. The maelstrom of emotion writhing within him seemed unable to get past the tightness of his throat. The only sounds he managed to make were little whimpers. All the hope that had been reborn with the other Dean's arrival was now crushed beneath the weight of those words.

The only thing he saw was Michael's- _Dean's_- face, all he heard was his voice repeating the same phrase over and over. Cold. Stern. Disapproving.

"_I know what you have been doing all this time, Castiel. You had to know there was no hope. And now it's over."_

The sobs started softly at first, so soft he didn't realize he was crying until he felt the dampness on the pillow. No. It was too much. He couldn't think right now. Rolling onto his back, Castiel laid his hand over his eyes, took a deep, shuddering breath, and let himself remember a time when that face and that voice showed him nothing but concern, affection and warmth.

* * *

_Three years ago..._

_It was raining. Castiel sat in the backseat, his head pressed to the windowpane. Every now and then he rubbed his cheek against it, relishing in the cool sensation. Though it had been some hours since their clash with Pestilence, Castiel had not been able to shake off the effects of sickness as readily as Dean and Sam. But he kept his discomfort quiet. He was just tired. That was all. _

_The car rolled and bumped along. Sam dozed in the front seat. The wipers crawled across the windshield, leaving little streaks in their wake. The radio was low, though not low enough to prevent Dean from nodding his head and humming softly to the song. Cas listened to his voice, trying to identify the song but found he couldn't focus on anything. His head felt heavy, his thoughts sluggish._

"_Cas? You okay?"_

_Castiel blinked, met Dean's eyes in the rear view mirror. Despite the bottled water Sam had given him earlier, his throat felt so parched. Raw. _

"_I'm fine," he managed. _

_Dean's brows lifted, no doubt at how scratchy Cas's voice sounded. "You don't sound fine," he observed. "Wanna tell me what's wrong?"_

"_Nothing's wrong," Cas replied, perhaps a little shorter than he intended. The lingering effects of sickness had soured his mood. "I just need to rest." _

_It was obvious Dean didn't believe him. But he didn't press the matter, for which Castiel was grateful. "Well, if you need to stop or anything let me know, all right?" _

_Cas nodded, leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes. He absently listened to the swoosh of the windshield wipers, the patter of rain on the window, the song on the radio. _

_He didn't know how long he was reclining before his stomach turned over so abruptly he was forced upright. A strange feeling rose within him. "Dean," he tried to say, found that if he opened his mouth even a bit the discomfort grew. Confused and a little frightened, he pressed his hand over his middle as he smacked the back of the front seat. _

_Dean immediately glanced back. He took one look at Cas's distressed face and pulled over to the side of the road. The abrupt stop startled Sam from sleep. He sat up, bleary-eyed. _

"_Dean? What's goin' on?" he asked groggily._

"_It's all right, Sam. Just give me a second," Dean explained as he opened the door and exited the car. When he opened the back door Cas nearly fell out. Dean's arms encircled his upper body, steadied him. Still, the sudden movement caused Cas's stomach to turn over again. He felt something come up, clamped his mouth shut to keep it in._

"_It's okay," Dean was saying as he led Cas away from the car. The downpour had turned to a light mist now. It clung to the strands of Dean's hair like dew. "I gotcha."_

_Cas looked over at him, wanted to ask where they were going. Before he knew it, his upper body jerked forward, his mouth opened and Cas exploded all over the grass. He was dimly aware of Dean standing beside him, his arm about his shoulders. Once, twice, three times Cas vomited, coughing and wheezing from the effort while Dean gave little encouragements._

_When it was all over, leaving Cas shaking from head to toe, his upper body bent at the knees, he lifted his gaze to Dean's. _

_His smile was sympathetic. "Damn," he remarked. "I've seen some guys hurl before and they got nothing on you. I think you just threw up that whole liquor store you drank," he teased. _

_Castiel scowled. "That's not funny, Dean," he retorted, his voice raspy._

_Dean rubbed his shoulder. "Feel better?"_

_The angel shook his head. "No." He grimaced at the acidic taste in his mouth. "I feel worse."_

"_A good hurl will do that." He studied Cas's face. "You don't look like you're dying anymore. You good to go?"_

_Cas stood up, winced at his sore abdomen muscles, the sudden bout of dizziness. "I'm not sure."_

"_I hope so. Love ya, man, but if you throw up in my car I'll have to kill you." Dean circled Cas's shoulder and started back for the car. "Come on. I saw a sign for a motel about a mile up."_

"_Are you sure we should stop?" Cas asked. "We've got three of the rings now and-" _

"_Cas, shut up," Dean interrupted. "I'm beat, Sam's beat, and you just painted the grass back there. We're getting a room." He then pulled Cas against him, his hand pressed to the back of his head. The abrupt shift in mood took Cas slightly by surprise, but in the end he sagged against Dean, grateful for his presence. _

"_You could have been killed back there, you stupid son of a bitch," he murmured in Cas's ear. "Lemme take care of you, all right?"_

_Cas wrapped his arms around him and squeezed._

_Sam was standing outside of the car as they approached, his expression one of concern. "He all right?"_

"_He'll be fine," Dean answered readily. "How awake are you?"_

"_Uh. Pretty awake, I guess. Why?" he asked, watching as Dean pulled open the door and helped Cas inside. _

"_Motel about a mile up. We're stopping for the night." Dean slid into the seat beside Cas, went to close the door. At seeing Sam hadn't moved he added, "What, you need me to draw you a map?"_

"_Huh? No, no, I got it," Sam replied with a small smile for his brother and Cas before climbing into the driver's seat. _

_Once the car resumed moving Cas felt Dean's arm slide behind his shoulders to draw him closer. When Cas looked over at him, and was met with a muttered, 'What? Shut up,' he couldn't help but smile. As he leaned his head on his shoulder Dean pressed his cheek to the top of his head. The ill feeling that had lingered since he vomited gradually faded._

_Shortly after checking into the motel, Sam offered to go on a food run. Though the idea of eating didn't sit well with Castiel, he demurred to Dean's insistence on getting chicken soup. As Dean explained all its benefits ("Come on, it's the go-to food whenever you feel like crap. It's magic,") Cas caught the amused yet happy smile on Sam's face. After assuring Dean he'd get everything ("Don't you dare forget my pie, Sammy!") he took his leave. _

_Once alone Dean looked to Cas and said, simply, "Shower?" _

_For a moment he didn't understand; was this an invite, or a question if he wanted one or if he was going to-_

"_I see how hard you're thinking there, Cas," Dean remarked with a small smile. "I'm asking if you're gonna take one cause damn, man, you don't look so good. Don't smell too good either," he added, his grimace punctuating the observation. _

_Castiel plucked at his clothes, noted a stain on the tie, the sleeve of his coat. "Yes. I will shower," he agreed. "But my clothes are dirty."_

"_I got you covered on that, man. You go ahead," Dean said, gesturing over his shoulder toward the bathroom. _

_Cas nodded, stood and stripped without a second thought. Dean's brows lifted before he gave a half smile. "Doesn't take much, does it?"_

"_What doesn't? Showering in clothes isn't the proper way to do it," Cas answered matter-of-factly. _

_Dean burst out laughing. Cas waited for his mirth to pass, still somewhat confused by the reaction, when Dean stood up. "Damn," he managed between chuckles. He wiped at his eyes. "No one makes me laugh like you do."_

_Cas paused, taken in by the warmth in his voice and smile, felt the simultaneous pain and joy at knowing he was its cause, smiled. It was something he wanted to keep feeling._

_As Cas figured out the workings of the shower, he heard Dean rifling through his duffel bag. Once he was done he strode from the steam-filled bathroom, a towel around his hips to find Dean had laid clothes out on the bed. He was sitting beside them, his attention fixed on the television, a small bag of potato chips by his knee._

"_Don't bitch about the clothes," he remarked with an absent gesture. "All I had. Don't worry," he assured him, taking a bite of a chip. "There's a laundromat nearby. We can wash that stupid coat and suit for you tomorrow."_

_Cas picked up the black tee shirt, the shorts. He knew they were Dean's; he had seen him wear them before. There was a peculiar feeling in his chest, as if his powers had come surging back. But that was impossible. Still, the sense that he was filled with something persisted. It was as pleasant as knowing he made Dean laugh. _

_His throat tightened, his eyes burned. "Thank you, Dean," he said, very softly._

_Dean glanced up at him. Cas watched awareness enter his gaze as he rose to his feet. Their eyes held for some moments before Dean clasped him to his chest. _

"_Stop that," he said. His voice was gruff but there was no anger in his tone. "Just stop it, all right?"_

_Cas drew back to look at him. "I don't understand. What am I doing?"_

"_Looking like, like that," Dean said, pointing at his face. "Like you're ready to cry. Just don't. You don't need to cry."_

_Cas considered his words. "Crying upsets you."_

"_Of course it does," Dean replied passionately. "All the shit we've had to deal with, the Apocalypse, angels, demons, everything- I've cried so damn much I'm sick of it. I don't want to see you cry, Cas. I only wanna see-" He cut himself off, averted his gaze. _

_Cas watched the play of emotions on his face, felt his hands squeeze his shoulders. _

_At last he lifted his face to Cas's. _

"_I just wanna see you smile. That's all." _

_A long moment passed. At last Castiel bowed his head, slowly. "I understand," he replied. "I will not cry in front of you."_

"_Anymore," Dean stipulated, his hands tightening on his shoulders for emphasis. "I mean it, Cas."_

_He nodded again. "Anymore," he agreed, and, because he knew Dean liked to see it, he smiled._

_For an instant it looked as if Dean was going to weep. But he just shook his head, hugged him again, and stepped away. "You might wanna get dressed," he advised as he ventured to the bathroom. "Don't think Sam will like the view too much."_

_Cas's brow furrowed in confusion, yet before he could question the insinuation Dean had closed the door. Deciding it was best to do as he suggested, Cas picked up the shorts just as he loosened the towel from his waist._

_It was then he heard the door open, Dean's low mutter of, 'Dammit,' before Cas felt a hand grip his upper arm. As he found himself being drawn back into the bathroom, he sent Dean a questioning look._

"_I'm already showered," he pointed out._

"_Yeah, well, you're getting another," Dean explained in husky tones. "So shut up and get in here."_

_Castiel determined then that so long as they had these opportunities, he'd never shower alone again._

_Shortly afterward the two settled in to watch TV while waiting for Sam. Dean had eventually drifted off; he now lay with his nose pressed to Cas's hip, his arm flung over his lap. Castiel had one hand resting on Dean's shoulder as he operated the remote with the other. Once, when the volume was too high, Dean had demanded he turn it down in a sleepy grumble. As Cas looked down at him, he was once again consumed by the feel that something had surged within his chest. It brought with it the distinct want to cry, and Cas resolutely choked the tears back. He wouldn't cry, even if Dean couldn't see his tears._

_About halfway through the late night news segment, Castiel felt himself growing sleepy. Switching the TV off, he laid back, shifting his arm to let Dean's head rest against his shoulder. Dean's other arm still lay across his midsection; when Cas linked his fingers with the other man's, he heard Dean make a little contented noise. _

_Cas hadn't been asleep long when he heard the door open with a soft click. Sam poked his head around the door, took in the semi-darkened room and crept in. After setting the two bags down on the table he crawled into the other bed. The last thing Cas saw before he closed his eyes was Sam's smile and nod. _

* * *

Dean raced down the path, the liquid inside the jug sloshing noisily from under his arm. With Gabriel tied up with the angels- Michael had pulled him aside after talking to Castiel- Dean had to make his own way to the barn. Of course, it didn't help that the place was about two miles away, he was on foot and time was running out. But he pressed on, driven by the memory of Cas's haunted face, the hopelessness in his eyes. There was no way he was going to let the angel give up. Not when they were this close.

At last the barn came into view, and Dean stumbled to a stop to catch his breath. He bent at the waist, head bowed as he panted. When his heart stopped making like it was ready to burst from his chest, he wiped the sweat from his brow and pressed on. Music drifted on the air the closer he got to the barn. He immediately recognized it as one of his many mix tapes. At reaching the door he paused to peer through the opening. Nothing. While he had no idea what kind of state the angel would be in, it was up to Dean to remind him what they needed to do.

"Cas! Hey, Cas!" he called, slipping through the opening. He strode to the driver's side door and leaned in to lower the music. "Come on, buddy. Don't do this," he went on, peering into the backseat. One of the pillows was tipped over, the blankets mussed. He set the jug on top of the car. "To hell with what Michael said to you, man. Look, he's got no idea what we have planned. We're going to make it right, just like I promised you."

There was a little strangled sound from behind the car. When Dean glanced past the trunk he found Cas sitting there, his arms around his upright knees. The angel was staring at the opposite wall, his face pale and drawn. He looked so bereft Dean had a painful flashback of his friend's fragile mental state shortly before they took out Dick Roman. Then, he had been wrestling with so many feelings of betrayal, anger and disappointment in Castiel's choices he had lashed out at him. Not this time.

Kneeling beside him, Dean took a deep breath. "Cas," he said softly. "Talk to me."

Cas said nothing for so long Dean was halfway convinced he hadn't heard him. But eventually he managed a tiny, bitter smile. "It's over," he muttered. "It was a waste. All of it."

"Whoa there, hold it," Dean told him firmly. "I didn't hear any fat lady singing, so don't sit there and talk like that." He watched Cas's face for a reaction, got nothing. "Look at me, man," he requested, hearing the edge in his voice. "You don't believe it's over. I know you don't."

At this Castiel looked over at him. "Do you?" he challenged. His eyes were dark with anger. "For three years I bloodied my hands on Crowley's behalf, all on the slim hope that I'd free Dean." He laughed then, harsh, sharp. "But Dean's gone. He's _been _gone. All I have are the memories." He bowed his head. "Just leave me. Please."

For a moment Dean couldn't believe what he was hearing. Unwillingly, he flashed back to the events just before the alley beat down. Remembered the passionate way Castiel had shouted in between throwing him around like he was nothing. Now that his role had been reversed, he at last understood just how really pissed off and disappointed Cas had been.

Dean's hand shot out, snagged the bunched material Castiel's shoulder. "Get up," he ordered gruffly. When Cas didn't move Dean dragged him to his feet. Spinning him round so he faced him, he took hold of the lapels of Cas's coat. Their faces were inches apart.

"Don't you dare give up," he threatened in a low growl. "Do you hear me? Sam's counting on you to get Dean- his _brother-_ back from those damned angels. It's whyyou got your hands bloody: to save _Dean. _If I know one thing about all this, it's that _he'd _never give up on _you _no matter how bad it got!" he shouted, thrusting Cas away as if he were disgusted by him. The sudden release sent Cas to the ground in a heap. He propped himself on his elbows, wide-eyed as he stared at Dean.

Dean scowled and shook his head. "The instant you give up on Dean, he's dead. Don't do that to him. Don't you _dare_ do that to him."

Cas's throat flashed as he swallowed, and he hung his head. Dean waited for the angel to say something, anything, but after a moment he grunted. "So. He's dead then. To hell with you, Cas. He deserved better," he snarled before turning on his heel. As he headed for the doors he felt his hands clench, fingernails digging into his palms. Remembered how Cas's hands had clenched that night.

"Wait," Castiel called, halting Dean's steps. He didn't look back, though; if he did, he'd take a swing at the angel, if only to release all the anger and fear. The fear he only just realized that had been the undercurrent of all his worries about his missing friend.

A tentative hand grazed his shoulder. Dean shook it off and glared over at Castiel.

"What?"

Castiel's eyes were hollow. "Dean," he choked out. "You're right. Everything you said is true...he- he'd never give up on me. I can't give up on him. I _won't. _Please," he said, extending his hand in a gesture of peace. "Help me."

The request hung between them for several moments.

"_I need your help because you are the only one who'll help me."_

Dean waited until the painful tightening in his chest eased before he spoke. "You gotta have both feet in, Cas," he advised quietly. "You break like this again, it's over. Understand?"

He bowed his head. The despair that had shadowed his eyes had started to disappear. "Tell me what I have to do."

In response Dean produced the vial. He watched Cas's eyes widen as he took his hand and pressed it into his palm.

"First thing's first," he said with a little smile. "Strap your wings back on. Then we'll talk."

Castiel stared down at his Grace for a time. He looked both exhilarated and a little afraid before he closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath.

"Dean," he requested softly. "I need you to wait outside. I don't want you vaporized in the transfer. And remember to shield your eyes."

Mildly startled by the strong, even tone, so very like the Castiel he knew (and missed terribly) Dean nodded, murmured a thanks and, after taking the jug of holy oil in hand, started for the doors. He paused at the threshold to glance over his shoulder. Cas's eyes met his; at his small nod Dean exited. He walked, and kept on walking, resisting the urge to look back, knowing if he did he'd end up like Pamela.

About halfway down the road it felt like the entire world shut off. Nothing, not even the wind, stirred. Then there was a distant sound, like roaring thunder in the distance, before it suddenly exploded. Dean was thrown to the ground by the resulting shock wave. When he covered his head he heard the barn collapse.

When all was calm Dean slowly lifted his head. It looked like a tornado had touched down. Debris littered the road. The cornfield was flattened, the ears of corn scattered every which way. As he took in the destruction he heard the familiar rush of wings, and immediately looked to the left.

First he saw the Impala, not a scratch on her. Standing directly in front of her was Castiel. He peered down at him in that curious, thoughtful way of his. Gone was the distress, the anguish in his eyes. All Dean saw now was steely resolve.

Cas offered his hand. Dean grasped it, grunting slightly as he was assisted to his feet. Standing face to face with the angel, he was suddenly aware of how the very air around him seemed to spark with electricity. Given the way the entire area was leveled, it was any wonder Cas was still in one piece.

As if understanding where his thoughts had gone, Cas nodded. "Had my Grace been at full strength it would have destroyed this vessel," he explained. He touched his chest, as if reassuring himself that he was indeed in one piece. "But this is a good vessel. It endures."

Dean gave a tiny, approving smile. "Lucky for us," he said, for lack of something better.

Cas lowered his hand, slowly. Dean couldn't help but notice the otherworldly way he moved. "The spell Crowley placed on me has been broken. I can move freely again. I assume we are to meet up with Sam, Gabriel and the rest to discuss plans."

Dean decided it wasn't a good idea to tell Cas that he wasn't welcome at Bobby's. "After we talk to Balthazar."

Cas thought a moment. "He's inside Purgatory," he reported. "He hosts auctions during the daytime hours."

"Okay, good, perfect. Let's go back there and have a little talk with him," Dean said, lifting the holy oil with a sly smile.

Castiel's gaze traveled to the jug, then went back to Dean's face. The smile faded the longer he watched him. No- saw right _through _him. Just like the other Castiel.

_He knows, _he thought. _He knows._

"Dean." There was concern beneath the gentle command. "Crowley would not have given you my Grace unless you made a bargain with him," he deduced. "What did he have you agree to?"

Dean blew out a long breath. He rubbed the back of his neck, managed a little, helpless laugh. "Yeah. About that..."


	10. Chapter 10

The archangel Michael stood on the second floor balcony overlooking the stage. He had his hands folded at the small of his back, his face darkening at witnessing the entrance of some scantily clad human, demonic and angelic females. They waved to those they passed by, expressing invitations with eyes, smiles, provocative gestures. After a moment Michael glanced away with a shake of the head. It was true, the club was a beacon for sinners; upon their arrival Raphael had been more than willing to raze it to the ground. Michael had cautioned patience, tolerance. They had come for a purpose, after all. Castiel was not the only angel he wanted to bring home.

Michael became aware of his right hand trembling. He clasped his left over it to hold it in place. Though he had spent the past three years suppressing all that was Dean Winchester from this body, still the sight- no, the mere _thought_ of Castiel- had been enough to chip away at the gag he had placed over him. Michael set his shoulders. He wasn't going to let his vessel control him. He was the most powerful of his father's angels; he had a duty to uphold in His absence. Dean Winchester would not prevent him from accomplishing his goals.

At hearing a footstep he glanced over, gave a cordial nod. "Raphael," he greeted. "Have you been able to speak to all our fallen brothers and sisters?"

"All but Balthazar," Raphael answered. At Michael's lifted brow he smoothed his surly expression. "He has secured himself in a room that is warded against all manner of creatures," he explained. "We can enter but we are powerless."

"No matter," Michael replied calmly. "Send an angel there. He will bring Balthazar to me."

"What of Gabriel?" Raphael asked. He didn't bother hiding his displeasure this time. Michael allowed it; in truth, he was just as disappointed in their wayward brother.

"Leave him to me," Michael assured him. "He has demonstrated some reluctance to coming home but he will relent. I intend to speak to him again, and Castiel, after we conclude tonight's performance."

Raphael frowned. "You are participating in that farce?"

"I am," Michael answered, and said no more. Raphael was not impertinent enough to question him, or give an opinion as to why he should not. Instead he nodded and excused himself.

Alone now, Michael's gaze ventured back to the stage. His right hand started to tremble again, very slightly.

* * *

Dean watched Castiel's face, waiting for the angel to say something. Shortly after he began his story it had started to rain, forcing them to take shelter inside the Impala. There Castiel had sat in silence, not watching him but the rain, as he listened. That had been about ten minutes ago, and still Cas had kept his peace.

Dean drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. The jug of holy oil sat between them, propped beside the box of mix tapes. During the ensuing silence he had sorted through them, remembering the instances he had first created them, approving of his selection for some, questioning it on others. He reached into the box again, biting back the urge to demand Castiel _say _something already. It was then he noticed a tape he didn't remember making. He pulled it free to inspect the label. The first thing he spotted was the different handwriting; the next, the date. Dean glanced at Cas, didn't miss the way the angel had looked away before he ejected the current tape and replaced it. When the first song started (Asia again) Castiel's hands tightened on his lap. His eyes shone with sadness, regret. At realizing the song's relevance Dean switched it off with a sigh.

"All right, enough with the silent treatment," he commented, turning to face him. He watched Cas eject the tape and gently insert it into the box. "I know you're gonna say something about what I did. So go ahead. Say it."

Castiel glanced away. "Your reasons for agreeing are sound. Given the circumstances, you had little choice other than to make the bargain."

"Um. Yeah," Dean said, honestly surprised by Cas's words. "Why didn't you just say before?"

Cas's head bowed. "Because I was remembering a similar discussion," he explained quietly. He didn't elaborate, nor did Dean ask him to. It was pretty obvious that discussion hadn't been a good one. After a moment Cas looked over at Dean, all sadness gone from his face. "Crowley believes you agreed to the switch. If I know you, you have a different plan."

"Hell yeah I do," Dean answered with a small smile. He patted the jug. "And this little baby's gonna help us with Balthazar."

"Yes. Trapping him will work," Castiel agreed. "But what about Crowley? Killing the demon he sends to collect you will draw too much attention."

"I'm gonna ask Gabriel to give me a hand. Make his tricks work _for _me for a change," he added with a smirk.

"Then we should talk to them. Doing it in Purgatory might be too dangerous," Cas reasoned.

"Well, I had asked them to meet me at the barn but..." Dean trailed off with a helpless shrug and gesture over his shoulder.

Cas looked at its ruined remains, gave a small nod. "I will transport us to Bobby's."

"Wait, Cas that's not-" Dean protested, but it was already too late. The road had become the car lot next to Bobby's house. As Cas exited the car Dean heaved a sigh. Friggin' angels.

He had just closed the door when an angry voice called out, "What the hell is _he_ doing here?"

Dean turned to find Bobby standing behind them. He was pointing a shotgun right at Cas. And he looked _pissed._

Castiel approached Bobby first. "Hello," he greeted, seemingly oblivious to the way Bobby tensed. "It's good to see you again."

"Well, the feeling ain't mutual," the older man retorted. His eyes went past the angel. "Dean, I know what this guy means to you but he's not welcome here. Not anymore."

"Bobby, put the gun down," Dean told him sharply. "It's Cas! He's one of us!"

"He hasn't been one of us since he turned his back on Sam, and if you had any sense you'd see it," Bobby countered. He glared at Castiel. "Get the hell of my property, you son of a bitch." He pumped the shotgun for emphasis.

Cas now stood across from Bobby, his hands at his sides. His face was full of regret. "I understand why you're upset. I wasn't myself after I- we- lost Dean," he corrected softly. "I was angry, confused. I thought that I was doing the right thing, for all of us. I'm sorry for all of it."

Bobby scowled. "You think saying sorry is going to make it all better?"

"No," Cas admitted. "All I can do now is make it up to you, if you'll let me."

Silence fell. Dean watched Bobby's face, wondering if he, too, was affected by the quiet resignation in Castiel's voice.

The shotgun wavered, just a bit. Bobby's expression softened. Dean felt himself relax.

But then Gabriel was suddenly there, a smirk on his face as he said, "I'm _not_ sorry for this," and leveled Cas with a single blow. The force behind the punch sent him crashing into the Impala. Dean flinched as he watched her shudder from the impact before he glowered at Gabriel.

The archangel clapped his hands as if freeing them from a dirty substance. Sam now stood beside Bobby, matching awestruck expressions on their faces. Cas picked himself up from the ground, touched his bloodied nose and upper lip.

The grin Gabriel sent Dean's way was insincere. "Sorry. Had to get that out of my system," he explained. "Well, kids? We ready to get to work or what?"

* * *

After explanations had been given to Bobby, Rufus and Garth (who Dean wasn't entirely sure was even awake for it all), and Bobby dispatched the latter two to warn fellow hunters away from Purgatory, the brothers and two angels retreated to the kitchen. Sam had just taken Castiel to the bathroom to help clean him up. Once they had gone Dean approached the refrigerator and grabbed a beer.

"Mind telling me what that was about?" he demanded of Gabriel, twisting the cap off and tossing it onto the table with a violent gesture.

Gabriel reclined on the counter, a candy bar in hand. He peeled back the wrapping, shrugged. "If I have to explain that to you, then you're dumber than you look."

"Dammit, Gabriel, we're supposed to be working together," Dean reminded him pointedly. "Punching the guys on our team won't help."

"I'm surprised to hear that coming from you," the archangel countered with a lifted brow. "How many times did you slug Sam as a way of getting your point across?"

Dean was in Gabriel's face seconds before he realized he had moved. He stared down at him through narrowed eyes. "You listen to me, you little son of a bitch," he murmured in low tones. "Don't you dare think you can throw that in my face just cause you and Sam are buddy-buddy. You asked me to get Cas on board with kick starting the Apocalypse, I did. So whatever issues you might have with him for leaving, stow it," he said sternly. "Got more important things to worry about right now."

Gabriel sat up so suddenly Dean was forced to take a step back. But it wasn't just the abrupt movement that gave him pause. It was the intensity in Gabriel's eyes, the set of his shoulders. The room seemed charged with power.

"Do you know why Michael is at Purgatory right now?" His voice was low, edged with resentment. "It's not just to take little Castiel away from here; he's come back for _all _of us."

"Wait a second," Dean protested. "Michael wants to bring all the angels home? Why?"

"To welcome us all back so we may be forgiven our trespasses and find redemption," Gabriel explained with a scowl. "When I told him I wasn't interested he made it pretty clear that I had no choice. And you know what, Dean?" he said, his tone becoming more passionate. "I like where I am. I like being with Sam. I even like that you're here cause it makes Sam happy, real brother or not." Gabriel slid off the counter and stabbed Dean in the chest with a finger. "So yeah, I took a swing at my kid brother because of it and I'm not sorry."

A heavy silence fell. As Gabriel continued to stare up at Dean, he was overcome with the realization that maybe, just maybe, there was more to his relationship with Sam than he let on. What was more, he _understood_.

"So that's his plan, huh?" he said after a moment. "Damn. I didn't know."

Gabriel hopped back onto the counter and took up the discarded candy bar. "Now you do," he announced as he broke off a piece. "I gotta say," he said through a mouthful. "I'm really looking forward to using my horn. Be nice to see the look on his face when he realizes he doesn't know everything."

Dean cracked a wry smile at that. "Amen."

When Gabriel shot him a look, followed by a slow smile, the two of them laughed. The world was definitely a screwed up place if Dean found reason to laugh with a former Trickster.

They were still laughing when Sam returned with Castiel. Dean glimpsed Sam's bright smile as he took in the sight before he addressed Cas. He took in the bruise on his cheek, the cut above his lip. "You all right?"

"The swelling will go down soon," he explained, speaking as if getting punched in the face was normal. "We should talk to Balthazar. The auction will be over by mid-afternoon."

"Damn." Dean glanced at his watch, noted it was just past noon. "Right. We'll take care of him now. You guys get back to Purgatory. Do your play thing, whatever. Crowley and Michael can't know anything's up. Gabriel, I'm gonna need your help when Crowley sends for me."

Gabriel took a bite of his candy bar. His eyes flashed with anticipation. "Just say the word," he assured him in pleasant tones. He punctuated this remark with a wink. Sam chuckled, sent Dean a helpless smile.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Come on, Cas," he said, heading for the door. At seeing Cas send him a confused look he grinned. "You kept my baby in that barn for three years, man. We're driving."

* * *

Castiel had regained his ability to transport anywhere with a thought. But from the moment he sat in the car, and Dean started the engine with an enthusiastic cry, he realized just how much he missed riding in the Impala. When Dean peeled out of the lot, sending the car into a tailspin as he headed for the road, Cas instinctively held onto the arm rest to keep his balance. He acknowledged that the car was picking up speed (despite his senses telling him it wasn't), and leaned back to watch the scenery fly by.

At hearing Dean rummaging through the box of tapes he turned to look at him. "Is something wrong?" he asked at seeing Dean's perplexed expression.

"Looking for a tape," he answered. He kept one hand on the wheel as he searched. "It's sorta an anthem, you know. Always played it whenever I first hit the road. Can't remember which one has it though."

Castiel inserted his hand into the box, found the correct tape and presented it to him. "AC/DC 'Back In Black'. It's the third song on side A," he explained.

Dean blinked in surprise before he gave an impressed nod. "You probably know this collection better than I do," he commented, popping the tape into the radio and pressing the fast forward button.

Castiel smiled faintly. "I've had three years to memorize it. That, and you- Dean- was very fond of that tape."

"Of course he was," Dean answered absently. Once the opening riff began he beamed. "Now that's what I'm talking about," he said, and drummed his hands to the beat. Soon he was singing to it, completely oblivious to everything but the music.

Castiel watched him for some moments, then resumed his observation of the scenery. When the memories started to unfold in his mind, he met them with a small, sad smile.

* * *

_Three years ago..._

_It had been well into the early morning by the time Dean pulled up in front of Bobby's. Castiel, like the brothers, was road weary. His exhaustion was so profound he had difficulty seeing things clearly. After Sam had shown him the bed in Bobby's study he trudged upstairs. _

_Once he was alone Cas shrugged out of the trench coat, drew back the covers and laid down. Some time later Dean entered the room, a duffel bag in hand. For a moment Cas thought he was just going to throw it onto the floor and sleep there, but Dean just gestured for him to move over. Cas did as bade, smiling as Dean wrapped his arms around him, felt his lips brush against the back of his neck. He stayed awake long enough to hear Dean's sleepy demand that he not steal the covers this time before drifting off. _

_The sound of wheels rolling across the floor roused Cas from sleep. He opened his eyes, squinted at the sunlight streaming in from the window. Dean snored softly at his back, his arm still wound about his chest, his other arm stretched beneath the pillow. Cas threaded his fingers with Dean's, smiling softly when Dean snuggled closer to him._

"_So how did he take the news?" came Bobby's voice from the kitchen._

"_About what we expected," Sam replied softly. Cas could hear cabinet doors opening, the rattle of plates. "What else can we do, Bobby? I started this mess. I have to be the one to finish it. You know this. Eventually Dean will get it, too."_

"_Yeah." There was little conviction in Bobby's tone. "What about those two lovebirds over there? When did that happen?" _

"_Honestly? I'm not sure," Sam answered. Cas heard the smile in his voice. "I gotta tell you, though: I'm glad it did. I've never seen Dean so happy."_

"_Happy, huh?" Bobby repeated. There was something about his tone that confused Cas. It was like he was satisfied yet disappointed at the same time. "It'll help, at least."_

_Sam gave a small sigh. "Yeah. It will."_

_A short silence followed. Cas waited, wanting to know what it was he would be helping Dean with. Soon Bobby gruffly reminded Sam there was work to do, and he was going to, as he put it, "Wake up the newlyweds," so they could get started. _

_Over the course of the next few hours, Cas didn't get a chance to think too much into what Sam and Bobby had been discussing. Like the others, he had been swept up in the simultaneous revelations of Bobby having sold his soul to Crowley, Death's expected appearance in Chicago, and the distribution of the Croatoan virus disguised as vaccine. All they had time for was preparation. And, as Dean, Sam and Bobby discussed their individual plans, Castiel couldn't help but notice the way Dean refused to meet his eyes. While he was still somewhat new at reading expressions, something told him Dean was withholding information._

_Night had fallen by the time Cas found the opportunity to talk to Dean. He had gone into a storage shed behind the garage to get more supplies. When Cas appeared in the doorway just as Dean turned to face him, he jumped._

"_Dammit, Cas," he grumbled, adjusting the duffel bag at his shoulder. "You're gonna give me a heart attack one of these days." He went past him- not rudely, but there was still something about his mannerisms that suggested he was keeping his distance. "I thought you were helping Bobby load the truck."_

"_I am. He sent me to the garage to gather more ammunition. Dean," Cas said, turning round. Dean took a few more steps before he paused. "Is something wrong? You don't seem like yourself."_

"_Wrong?" Dean repeated. He faced Cas, his expression stern, though his eyes flashed with emotion. "What makes you say that? Nothing's wrong except we need to stop a zombie Apocalypse and get Death's ring at the same time. When we're done with all that I get to watch my brother say yes to the Devil. Everything's awesome."_

_Beneath the bitterness was hurt, helplessness. It was then Cas understood what Sam and Bobby had been referencing in the morning. His expression softened. "I'm sorry, Dean," he murmured. "I know this must be- is hard on you," he corrected. "I don't want to see Sam in danger anymore than you do."_

"_Good." Dean's nod was short. "That's why I'm sending you with him to blow up that shipment," he announced, and strode off. _

_Cas stared after him. A sinking feeling settled into his gut. "Dean," he called, and again Dean stopped. "You will be going to Chicago with Crowley? To face Death?"_

_Dean's posture stiffened with each word Cas said. "That's the plan."_

_Cas approached him swiftly, grabbed his shoulder and turned him so they were facing each other. "You'll be alone. Crowley won't help you if things get difficult. You have to let me come with you."_

"_No," Dean told him, gripping the hand at his shoulder. He held onto it so tightly Cas felt pain. "Sammy needs you more than I do. Bobby too. I'll be fine," he assured him as he released his hand. "You gotta trust me."_

"_I don't trust Crowley," Cas stated. "Dean, please-"_

"_I said no," Dean grated, and Cas fell silent. "Yeah, I'm going to see Death but I'm not afraid; hell, dying doesn't scare me anymore. I'm going to do whatever it takes to make sure the Apocalypse doesn't go down. You gotta do the same. This is how it's gotta be, Cas. This is what we signed up for."_

_Cas shook his head. A painful tightening had gripped his chest, as if someone was stepping on it. "No," he murmured. "I can't let you do this."_

"_Well you're going to have to," Dean countered angrily. "Get it through your head already! You're an angel with no mojo, Cas. You get hurt and that's it. I can't let that happen," he said, his voice breaking a little. "I don't give a damn what happens to me, but you and Sam and Bobby? You're more important than I'll ever be."_

_Cas could do nothing but stare at him in silence. Though his eyes reflected pain, Dean gave a curt nod and walked off. As the distance between them grew the hurt and pain of Dean's stinging words abruptly changed to determination. In three strides Cas had reached Dean's side, gripped the other man's forearm and was pulling him around the garage._

"_Cas, what the hell are you doing?" Dean demanded. "Didn't you-"_

_Castiel didn't let him finish. He gripped the lapels of Dean's coat, shoved him against the wall and pressed his mouth to Dean's in a hard, fervent kiss. There was a brief moment of struggle before Cas heard the duffel bag hit the ground, and Dean's arms circled him tightly. Cas felt the wetness of tears on his cheeks, didn't know if they were his or Dean's. _

_He drew back with a ragged gasp. "You listen to me," he breathed in husky tones. "I turned my back on everything I knew, my family, my home, because I knew your worth. Because I believed in you. I've stood against those who would hurt you, and I've died to protect you. I'd do it again and again. You _are_ important, Dean. To Sam, to Bobby, and to me. I will look after Sam as best I can, but I won't listen to you talk like that. Understand?"_

_It was Dean's turn to stare down at Cas in silence. Castiel had seen Dean at his lowest, most vulnerable state. But even in the deepest pit of Hell, when the muck clinging to his soul should have overcome all light, it had still pierced the veil to show Cas the way. As he searched Dean's face, the angel identified the deeply-ingrained programming that had fashioned him into an unfeeling soldier at war with the desperate hope that maybe, he truly was_ _worth more. That he _believed _he was worth more._

_Long moments passed before Dean slowly, almost hesitantly, placed his hands on Cas's shoulders. Tears rolled down his cheeks. He tried to speak, shook his head. Instead he leaned forward to kiss Castiel again and again before dropping his head onto his shoulder. Cas held fast to him, his eyes closing as he heard Dean struggle not to cry. He said nothing out of respect for his feelings._

_They remained like that for a long time. Dean's little sobs eventually subsided, and he just let Cas hold him. Cas thought about all they had endured so far, and knew that moments like this would be the ones to soothe all the troubles that lay ahead. For both of them. _

_A low whistle suddenly echoed behind them. Castiel felt Dean stiffen in his arms and turned around. _

_Crowley stood there, a tiny smile on his face. "My, my. The things I've seen tonight," he commented in nonchalant tones. "Oh, don't let me stop you," he said as Castiel stepped away from Dean. "It looked like it was just about to get good."_

_Dean reached down to grab the duffel bag with sharp, jerky movements. "The hell do you want, Crowley?"_

"_World peace? A new tailor?" he replied in amused tones. The easy smile faded then, and he divided an impatient glance between the two. "Just in case you two forgot, there's a little job we need to take of. I suggest we depart."_

_Dean gave him a tight smile and strode off. Castiel watched him until he disappeared around the garage before he looked over at Crowley. "You won't let anything happen to him."_

_The look in Crowley's eyes indicated he knew it was a direct order, not a request. But he still smiled. "Wouldn't dream of it," he assured him. He then brushed past Cas, hands in his pockets. _

_The angel trailed after him shortly after. He glimpsed Dean unloading the duffel bag into the trunk of his car before he ventured back to where he left Bobby. The older hunter had a curt greeting for him- "Nice of you to finally come back,"- and set him to work. When he was handed a shotgun, it felt heavy, clumsy in his hands. For a moment he regretted his inability to use his angelic powers, but at spotting Sam talking to Dean, he stiffened his resolve. He'd made Dean a promise. He wouldn't fail him._


	11. Chapter 11

When Dean and Castiel returned to Purgatory, Dean couldn't help but notice the way the angel held himself as they crossed the threshold. Those that passed by paused to watch his progress, their expressions revealing what Dean already knew. There was absolutely nothing sad or sorrowful about Castiel now. There was only purpose. Dean couldn't deny that this more confident, determined Castiel only reminded him how much he missed the angel he knew. Recalling that he couldn't let his own emotions break him, he pushed the feelings aside and focused on the task at hand.

Cas led them across the main floor, past the billiards tables, slot machines, and a walled-off pit whose purpose escaped Dean until he heard the familiar growls of hell hounds. A pair of demons were down in the pit, one mopping at the black stains on the floor while the other threw bits of meat into the cages. The largest cage, inscribed with the word _Growley _across the top, was so well-kept it looked like a penthouse had been dropped in the middle of a slum. The demon lobbed the meat into the entrance at a safe distance. When it was snatched up amid throaty growls, Dean couldn't repress a shudder.

Cas strode past the pit without concern; Dean gave it a wide berth, and he didn't care who saw him do it. Once they cleared the area he exhaled, shook his head at the concept of hell hound pit fights, and followed Cas.

"Where's the auction?" Dean asked after they had left the main floor to descend a flight of stairs.

"Downstairs," Castiel answered. "Some of the rooms down here are protected by spells. Angels, demons and monsters can enter but we can't use our powers. Others are warded against them. I've had occasion to use those types of rooms."

There was something in Cas's voice that drew a little grunt from Dean. "Occasion, huh?" he drawled. "Getting paid under the table?"

Cas sent him a brief glance. "Not exactly," he replied, pushing open a door and stepping into a room. It looked like the lobby of a posh hotel. "I had an...arrangement with someone about two years ago. She-"

"She?" Dean interrupted, unable to keep from smiling.

"Yes, she," Cas confirmed. "She was on the run. I gave her a place to hide for little bit. I felt sorry for her I suppose. She was all alone."

"But not at night," Dean guessed, and grinned as Cas quickly looked away. "Well? Who was she?"

Cas turned down the corner. "Meg."

This drew Dean up short. "Meg? As in Lucifer's biggest fan? The one who possessed Sammy? The one who set hell hounds on us the day Ellen and Jo were-" he cut himself off, unwilling to dwell on that particular memory.

"Yes," the angel answered. "Things were different then, Dean. I didn't expect her to apologize for who she was, and she was just fine keeping things physical between us. I was fine with it, too."

Dean was scowling as he resumed walking. "Where is she now?"

"Dead," Cas told him. "Crowley had demons watching for Lucifer's followers. I went to visit her one night, and they had left her there. She was torn to pieces."

Dean fell silent. He never had any soft spots for Meg, but even he wouldn't have wished for Crowley's goons to tear her apart. "So," he said, running his hand down the length of his face. "What about the auction? How did you know Balthazar was hosting it?"

"Today is Wednesday. He always hosts auctions."

"And it's in one of those spelled rooms?"

"Yes."

"Good." Dean nodded and smiled. "Can't have Balthazar zapping out of there once we've got him cornered."

"The holy fire won't work," Cas informed him, turning another corner. "The artifacts he will be auctioning off are powerful weapons; all of them are bound by a spell that prevents their use, including the holy oil. We'll have to wait until he leaves."

Dean frowned. Figures. "So what, we're just going to watch?" he asked, unable to keep the exasperation from his tone.

Cas glanced over at Dean, his expression stern. "Yes. We still need Gabriel's horn. This is the best way to see if he has it."

Dean considered his reasoning and nodded. "Sounds good. Let's do it."

A single demon stood guard outside the double doors at the end of the hall. At seeing him Cas held out a hand. "Wait here," he instructed.

Dean sent him a puzzled look. "What are you going to do? Wait, you're not going to start smiting are you?" he asked, frowning. "We need to keep a low profile here."

Castiel, who had started to walk away, spoke over his shoulder. "The auction requires participants to buy their way in. The only valuable object we have is the holy oil, and we can't risk losing it." Something flashed across his face, and he gave a small smile that did not reach his eyes. "That, and I have a better means to get us inside."

Dean opened his mouth to ask what that could be when his brain processed the insinuation. He pondered this revelation for a moment, then, for lack of a better reaction, gave a nod.

"Right. Go get 'im, tiger."

Castiel answered with another little smile before he turned away. Dean stepped behind a column, out of the demon's line of sight but still able to watch what happened next.

There was nothing unusual about the way Cas approached the demon. But the longer he stood there, the more nervous the demon became. He kept looking past Cas, fidgeted in place. And then, without warning, he took hold of the angel by the shoulders and pulled him forward. As Dean stared, fascinated, a little freaked out and strangely envious, his brows lifted.

Damn. Cas was _really _going at it. If clothes started to come off he'd have to bail, fast.

Castiel had pushed the demon against the wall, kept him in place with a hand at his shoulder. The demon gripped Cas's face tightly between his hands. The noisy kiss went on for another moment before Cas drew back and pressed his palm to the demon's brow. The demon had a delirious look on his face as yellow energy coursed through him. When he finally slid to the floor Dean stepped out of hiding.

He threw his arms out in a helpless gesture. "What the hell, man? Did you smite him?"

"No." Cas picked up the demon by the back of the collar and dragged him toward a side door. Dean couldn't help but notice how messy his hair looked, or how calm he seemed after that crazy make out session. "He's one of my regular clients. He enjoys near-death experiences."

Dean blinked. "So what you just did is basically the demon version of asphyxiation?"

Cas shoved the demon into the room, closed the door. "Yes. We should hurry. The auction will not last much longer."

Grateful that their primary objective shifted his attention from what he had just seen, Dean nodded his agreement. Cas opened the door and led them inside.

The auctioneer was rattling off prices as they entered. He gestured at the seated audience with a gavel, acknowledging the raised hands as bids were called out. Glass cases of all shapes and sizes were lined up on the stage, lot numbers taped to their exteriors. A few demons were collecting items that had already been sold. All kinds of symbols had been painted on the wall like graffiti. Watching it all, a relaxed smile on his face, drink in hand and woman on his lap, was Balthazar. Dean recalled their first meeting with Gabriel and the Castiel from 2014 and wondered if all fallen angels rocked the wine,women and song life.

Castiel ducked into a section of the room that had been blocked off by velvet ropes. Stacked chairs had been pushed against the wall. Cas chose two, set them down and took a seat. He motioned for Dean to sit beside him. "Balthazar usually saves the rarest items for last," he reported as Dean sat down. "That's our best chance to see the horn."

"Got it," Dean answered with a nod. He set the holy oil on the floor between them. He leaned back, placed his hands on his knees. After watching the auctioneer go back and forth between several bids he shook his head. "Never could keep up with this stuff," he grumbled. "You recognize anything up there?"

Cas peered at the stage, his eyes narrowing in the all-too-familiar squint that indicated thoughtfulness. "None are heavenly," he reported in a low murmur. "The ones available for sale now are related to human history." He pointed at a case on the end. "That is the original design for the Roman Coliseum. That over there is Galileo's telescope. The large piece in the back is a rudder recovered from the _RMS Titanic. _And that is Hans Christian Anderson's original draft for _The Little Mermaid._"

"Awesome," Dean muttered, his tone heavy with sarcasm. This stuff was more Sam's thing. He shifted in place, drummed his fingers on his knees. Reminded himself to be patient.

More pieces were carted off the stage as they were sold. Castiel was completely riveted by the happenings and made for poor conversation. Dean divided his attention between each new item presented and Balthazar. He had turned his head to whisper something to the woman, who giggled behind at her hand at whatever he said. Balthazar's hand slid across her thigh; she playfully batted it away. Dean rolled his eyes. Angels sure were a horny lot for all that they were junkless.

Time passed. Dean knew he was nodding off in the chair, for he'd wake with a start every time the auctioneer raised his voice. He leaned forward, covered his face with his hands. At feeling something nudge against his shoulder he looked up. Cas stood beside him, a pair of beers in hand.

Dean blinked in confusion. "Where did you get those?" he asked, accepting the bottle.

Cas sat back down, twisted the cap off. "There's an open bar in the next room." He held out the beer. At recognizing the gesture Dean touched his bottle to Cas's, nodded when the angel gave him a small smile.

"Tell me something, Cas," Dean said after they shared the first drink. "Are you really okay with the whole ending the world thing? Especially since we're going after Michael."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that you've spent all this time missing him," he continued. "Say we ship Michael back up the stairway to Heaven, what then? Gabriel blows the horn and that's it?"

Cas took another sip. He was quiet for some moments, his eyes absently fixed on the stage. "Sam asked me the same thing at Bobby's," he admitted at last. "He feared there wouldn't be enough time for me to reconcile with Dean."

There was something in Cas's tone that got Dean's attention. "You think he won't forgive you for playing soul tag for Crowley?"

Cas bowed his head. His fingers moved, absently, along the side of the bottle. "It's more than that."

"More?"

The angel met his eyes. "After Michael banished Lucifer from Sam's mind, all that remained of Sam was a broken, battered shell. His mind had been fractured. I understand it took Gabriel weeks to piece him back together. I-" He broke off and looked away.

Dean let the silence linger for a moment. "You what?"

Castiel sighed heavily. His hand stole to his left wrist, fingers slipping beneath his coat sleeve to touch something beneath. "Gabriel is an archangel, far more powerful than I am. Even had we the time to restore Dean, I don't think I'm strong enough. If I had to choose between losing Dean to Michael forever and being left with an empty shell, I'd rather accept him as dead."

He lapsed into another silence then. Dean's gaze drifted to the stage. "Let me get this straight," he began, hearing the edge in his voice and not caring. "You're saying that you won't even _try_ to free him?"

Cas glanced back at him. Pain shadowed his eyes. "Dean..."

"I get it. I do," he assured him curtly. "Easier to just turn your back than face the truth. Never stop to think that maybe I'm- he's- counting on you."

The swift correction was not lost on Castiel. For a moment he studied him, the look in his eyes indicating he had seen straight into Dean's heart- as usual. At seeing this he quickly averted his gaze, his hands tightening on the bottle.

"Dean," he murmured. "Did something happen between you and your Castiel?"

Dean stared at the floor. What _hadn't _happened was more like it. Unwillingly, he thought back to those strained conversations during the hunt for Purgatory, the heartache, the pain, the disbelief of each one; the heated discussion in the parking lot of the mental hospital where Sam fought not just for his sanity, but his life, and how much it hurt to see Cas ready to flee. Not even the selfless decision to take in Sam's pain had been enough to reassure Dean that all was forgiven between them. And now, the last memory he had of Cas was his calling out to him after he had disappeared. Abandoned him.

Again.

His throat tightened. He could feel his eyes starting to burn.

_Dammit._

At feeling a tentative hand rest upon his Dean started, looked up.

Cas gazed at him, a world of understanding in his eyes. When he squeezed his hand, very gently, Dean's heartbeat increased. He could feel warmth coloring his face, his neck. For one, wild moment, he swore he saw Cas leaning toward him. Felt the need to mirror the action and-

The auctioneer's sudden announcement that they were beginning the next half of the auction shattered the moment. When Cas broke eye contact first Dean exhaled, tried not to think about what almost just happened, or why.

"Good," Cas was saying. He pointed at the stage. "The human artifacts have been sold. We should see the heavenly relics now."

"About time," Dean groused. As he drank down the last of his beer, he glimpsed Cas watching him in his peripheral, the sadness in his eyes.

New items were carried to the stage. Balthazar poked the woman in the side, causing her to laugh as she rose to her feet. When she turned and leaned over to kiss him goodbye he squeezed her bottom. After she had gone, taking the empty wine glasses with her, Balthazar rose to address the audience. He rambled on about the rarity of the next collection, his hope that everyone went home with something, blah blah blah. Dean rolled his eyes. If not for the man leaning over to whisper to Balthazar, he was sure the angel would have just kept talking.

The crowd applauded as Balthazar flashed a winning smile and swept a bow. As his enthusiastic gaze roamed the room he looked right where Dean and Castiel sat and winked. He then took his leave just as the auctioneer introduced the first piece.

Dean barely had time to register that Balthazar had spotted them when Cas lightly touched his sleeve. "Dean," he murmured, and pointed.

He looked to the audience and frowned. "Son of a bitch," he muttered at recognizing one of Raphael's lackeys. "What the hell is he here for?" He paused, then sent him a swift look. "Does Balthazar even know Michael's here?"

"I can't be certain." Cas's brow furrowed as his hand went to his brow. "Balthazar just summoned me. He wants to meet in my dressing room."

"Wait, we can't leave yet," Dean protested. "We gotta get the horn."

"He wants to speak to me after the auction. I will look for it among the items he has for sale, and secure it if I can."

"How? We don't have anything to spend."

"I have gifts clients have given me," Cas explained. "I can use those. But it's not safe for you to stay. If the angel sees you and reports you to Raphael-"

"Yeah, I know," Dean said, scowling. "All right. What do I do then?"

Cas stood, gestured for him to follow. After Dean snatched up the oil he trailed after him to the doors. "I'll send you to my room in advance of my meeting. It will give you time to use the holy oil."

"All right. Hey, Cas," he said just as the angel went to touch his brow. Their eyes met, held. After a moment Dean gripped Cas's shoulder. Cas reacted with a small intake of breath, as if this had been the first and not the hundredth time they had touched. Oddly enough, Dean felt his pulse racing at the contact. Getting a hold of his senses, he gave a firm nod.

"Be careful."

The smile that touched his face was small but warm. "I will," he promised, and pressed his fingers to Dean's brow. The last thing he saw was Cas's eyes, softened with some memory, before the room melted away.

* * *

Alone now, Castiel turned his attention to the auction. He watched the auctioneer, easily able to keep up with the fluctuating bids but soon found his mind drifting to his and Dean's discussion. Every time he tried to focus on the auction (a piece of Moses's staff was being wheeled off) in anticipation of seeing Gabriel's horn, the stage and the audience would gradually become replaced with the darkened car lot outside Bobby's. At first they were ghost-like images, there and gone again, every time the auctioneer announced another bid. Soon enough, however, Castiel could not help but fall into the memory. He laid his hand over his left wrist, closed his eyes and went back, back...

* * *

_Three years ago..._

_The joint trip to Chicago and the distribution factory had been a success. Now that the fear of the Croatoan virus's spread had been taken care of, everyone turned their thoughts to the eventual encounter with Lucifer. Castiel, like Dean, was not sanguine about Sam volunteering himself in order for their plan to work. He had no allusions about the kind of threat his big brother presented, and while he believed in Sam's strength (he had learned not to doubt the brothers anymore) he still could not help but worry._

_Dean was of the same mind. He let his feelings be known with every glance, every heavy sigh, but had stepped back. In doing so, he had withdrawn into himself. They all felt the change in Dean since their return from Chicago two days earlier. He had taken to sleeping in the Impala, alone, leaving Bobby and Sam worrying over him, while Cas, unable to sleep, stood by the window facing the yard. Once, he had seen Dean venture into the car lot; when he returned some time later, a crowbar in one hand and beer in another, Cas despaired at seeing Dean's reddened, tear-stained face. He had nearly gone out to him, decided against it out of respect for his privacy. _

_Sam had taken over the planning from here on out, even though it had been Dean who had deduced Lucifer was in Detroit. Cas noticed the shadows in his eyes as they discussed the trip. Wished that there was something he could do or say to bring Dean back to them._

_That night, Sam had suggested they marathon some of the old movies he and Dean used to watch as kids. He had given Dean a pointed look as he spoke, but his brother demonstrated no interest. _

"_Knock yourselves out," he said flatly. He strode for the refrigerator to help himself to some beer. "Come wake me up when it's time to go." With that he left, shutting the kitchen door heavily behind him._

_Bobby crossed his arms and shook his head. "This is getting out of hand," he announced. "Someone needs to talk some sense into that boy." _

"_Yeah." Sam looked to Cas, who sat at the kitchen table, his hands on his knees. "You wanna give it a shot?"_

_Cas gazed at the floor for a moment. "We shouldn't pry," he decided, though with little conviction. "This is difficult for him."_

"_It's difficult for all of us," Bobby pointed out sharply. "Dean's not the only one worried. He needs to get his head out of his ass and see that."_

"_He will express resentment or anger at our attempts. I think we should let him be."_

_Bobby stared at Cas for a moment, shook his head. "No wonder he likes you," he stated. "You're both idjits."_

"_Hey, Bobby? Can you give us a minute?" Sam requested. Bobby cast a quick glance at Cas, shook his head again, and took his leave. When they were alone Sam sat across from Cas, folded his hands on the table. He spent a moment gathering his thoughts, exhaled._

"_I don't know what you expect from me," Cas said without preamble. "He's your brother, you've known him longer."_

"_That's true," Sam conceded quietly. "But you've had luck before. I'm not saying go out there and beat him down again-"_

"_It will be more difficult to engage in a physical fight with him now since I am not at full power," Cas interrupted matter-of-factly. _

_Sam managed a tiny laugh at that. "Well, we can't always hit Dean when we want to get a point across. Try to talk to him, Cas. For all of us, but mostly for him. I don't know what's between you two, but he's been different lately. Happier. And he's opened up to you. If there's anyone here he'll listen to, it's you."_

_Castiel absorbed this in silence. He studied Sam's face, saw how he had pushed aside whatever fears or hesitations he might have experienced for Dean's sake. Found himself once again in awe of the strength inside Sam Winchester. _

"_All right," Cas agreed. He rose to his feet. "I will try."_

_Sam smiled, reached out to grab Cas's hand as he rounded the table. "Thanks a lot."_

_Cas nodded to his words, squeezed his hand and ventured out of the kitchen._

_It had cooled off as the sun set. Cas acknowledged the chill passing across his hands, the back of his neck, along the contours of his face. With every step that took him closer to the Impala, he wondered what it was he would say, could say. He recalled their conversation shortly before leaving for Chicago; then, Cas hadn't hesitated in letting Dean know exactly what he thought about his considering himself unimportant. It was different now. Cas wasn't sure of the reason why. Something inside him knew it was. _

_Dean was not sitting inside the car as Cas expected. Instead he was reclining on the hood, arms behind his head, gaze turned heavenward. Cas approached the car slowly, trying to gauge Dean's mood, the invisible boundaries he had called up. It was at this moment he realized just how much he missed being close to him, the freedom to touch his hand, share a smile, to hold onto him as they slept. Or, to be more precise, as Dean held onto him. Regardless, the absence of that warmth cut through him quite suddenly, leaving him speechless._

_After a moment Dean's eyes went to him. Blank-faced, he stared at Cas in silence, as if debating on telling him to go away or not. But then a crack appeared in his face, very slight, and he slid off the car, took the three steps separating he and Cas and had him in his arms._

"_Dammit, Cas," he murmured into his ear. His arms tightened around him. "What took you so long?"_

_The powerful emotions Cas had associated with his relationship with Dean Winchester rose up inside him. First there was delight, wonder, dedication, loyalty, admiration, quickly followed by worry, fear, unease, sorrow, helplessness. For an instant he wished he was once again at full power, if only to stop the feelings from overwhelming him. Knew that if he was, he'd never be able to appreciate what this man truly meant to him. _

_What _he _truly meant to Dean. _

_As this realization settled over him, Castiel completed the embrace, and knew that this time, he wasn't just mirroring Dean's reaction. He did it because he _understood.

_They stayed like that for a long time. There was no heated, desperate passion in their embrace. There was only tenderness, comfort. Eventually Dean drew back to clap both hands on Cas's shoulders. He looked like he was fighting off tears, but he still managed a small smile._

"_Come on," he said, his voice thick with emotion. He started back for the house, his arm about Cas's shoulders. "It's time you watched something other than bad porn with me." _


	12. Chapter 12

_Three years ago..._

_The following morning saw the group packing the Impala and Bobby's van for the trip to Detroit. Dean had spent the night in a real bed and was the better for it, physically, mentally and emotionally. Castiel, too; not only had he missed feeling that warm body close to his, he missed being able to watch Dean sleep. Yes, Dean made it no secret how 'creepy' it was but, sometimes, when Cas was awake, his hand gentle atop Dean's, the other had stirred long enough to smile his appreciation. Of course, it'd usually be followed by a gruff order to go back to sleep. Cas didn't mind. Anything was better than seeing him withdraw into himself. Not when they all needed to be focused on what lay ahead._

_They headed out around eight AM, after the required stop for breakfast. Cas rode with the brothers while Bobby tagged along behind. The angel spent his time watching the scenery go by as he nibbled at his breakfast sandwich. Dean fussed about his food, muttering when crumbs got onto his lap or when his coffee spilled. Sam, exasperated, finally told him to concentrate on the road. When Dean glowered at his brother Sam gave as good as he got. Dean relented, but not without a surly look. Sam cracked a small, triumphant smile._

_As for Castiel, he enjoyed watching their interaction. His father had given him countless brothers and sisters, but he couldn't think of any he was as close with. He wasn't even sure he could term what he felt for his older brothers love. There was respect, yes, as well as a little bit of fear. The only one Cas knew he truly loved was his father. Even knowing He had abandoned them, he still loved Him. He likened it to Dean and Sam's relationship with their own father. Castiel had learned of John Winchester through Carver Edlund's books, and while there were things he did that drew more than a few questions, he felt they still loved him, too. _

_Cas looked to Dean then, a powerful feeling not unlike what he experienced last night overcoming him. Could he call what he felt for him love, too? And did he feel the same? There were still so many things about the concept- the human understanding of it- he didn't understand. He also wasn't sure how to explain what it was that he felt. _

_Dean smacked Sam's hand away from the radio. "House rules, Sammy," he reminded him with a small smile. _

_Sam gave him an exasperated look. "We've listened to this tape so much it's warped." _

"_No it isn't," Dean defended. He turned up the volume, his head tilted as he listened. After a moment he made a face. "What the hell are you talking about? It's fine."_

"_Actually it's not," Cas put in. "The sound drags in places, and the music falls out of key."_

_Dean glowered at Cas's reflection in the rear view mirror. "Nobody asked you, Mr. Know-It-All," he griped. At Sam's resulting chuckle Dean sharply ejected the tape and tossed it into the box. "Okay, fine. So it's bad. Hey!" he cried when Sam began searching for a radio station. _

"_All those tapes are warped. It won't kill you to listen to the radio for once." _

"_Oh come on, they're not all bad. Hey, Cas, back me up, man- you listened to a lot of them. They're fine."_

_Cas considered the request. "It's true. Most are warped," he reported, much to Dean's dismay. The angel then scooted forward to root through the disorganized collection until coming across a tape. "Here," he said, offering it to Dean. "This one is fine."_

_A wide grin broke across Dean's face, and he sent Sam a look his younger brother made a face at before popping in the tape. "Oh damn," Dean exclaimed as the opening riff of the first song played. "Been a long time since I heard this. Good choice, Cas," he complimented with a smile. As Cas returned it he glimpsed Sam's in his peripheral._

_They had listened to the tape twice over by the time Dean pulled into a gas station. He put the car in gear and looked over at Sam. "Lunchtime," he announced with a grin and gesture toward the attached mini-mart._

_Sam shook his head. He closed the book he had been reading, set it on the seat. "No thanks."_

"_That's what you said at breakfast too. Dude, you can't tell me you're not hungry," Dean said, a slight frown on his face._

_Sam shrugged. "Well, I'm not," he insisted. "It's okay."_

"_No, it's not okay," Dean countered. "Come on, get something. I don't care if it's a bag of chips."_

_Cas could see Sam was getting annoyed. He also identified unease in his face. "I said no," he repeated sternly. He was outside in one swift motion, the power behind the way he slammed the door closed shaking the car._

_Dean draped his arm along the back of the seat. "I don't like this, Cas," he murmured, his fist clenching. _

_Cas watched Sam approach the gas pump. "He's preparing himself to ingest the demon blood, Dean," he said softly. He met Dean's curious gaze. "You recall his eating habits weren't the same then."_

"_That was when he was jonesing for it," Dean pointed out sharply. "Why should it make any difference now?" _

_Cas wasn't sure what jonesing meant, resolved to ask about it later. "It's possible the thought of eating regularly might make him ill."_

_This sobered Dean, and he sighed. After a moment he shook his head. "I hate seeing him like this."_

"_I don't like it, either. But we agreed to stand with him."_

_Dean sighed heavily. "Yeah," he murmured. He was quiet for some moments more, then pushed open the door. "Well, I'm going to get something to eat. You coming?"_

"_Yes," Cas answered at once, and exited the car. As he trailed after Dean he noticed Bobby had approached Sam, a look of fatherly concern in his eyes. The two began to converse in hushed whispers; when Bobby touched Sam's shoulder the latter managed a small smile. _

_Dean entered the mini-mart first and made for the freezer section across the way. Cas, not feeling very hungry either (he supposed he was also affected by unease) wandered off to explore the shelves. As he passed displays of candy, jerky and mixed nuts, he spotted a kiosk loaded with cassette tapes. Two young girls were browsing the selection, smiling and giggling as they read some of the artist names aloud. They were soon hurried out by an impatient parent's call. The girls left so swiftly the tapes they had been looking at clattered to the floor. Castiel leaned over to pick them up, his head tilting at the artist titles. They weren't like the ones in Dean's collection. _

"_Cas? Hey, Cas, you ready?" Dean called. He stood by the check out counter, an unwrapped sub in one hand. Curious, Cas replaced one and took the other, then made his way for the counter. He met Dean's gaze as he set it down. _

_Dean lifted a brow at seeing it. "Soft rock? Really?" Before Cas could come up with an explanation Dean only shrugged and drew the tape closer to his small pile of purchases. After he paid he looped the plastic bag around his wrist, took another bite of his sandwich as he gestured for Cas to follow. _

_An hour later they were back on the road. The brothers had lapsed into silence as Sam resumed reading his book. Castiel opened the tape, and was now reading through the lyrics. As time passed, and he started to memorize the words to one song in particular, he became increasingly aware of the way his pulse fluctuated, the strange, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach every time he looked at Dean. He wanted to listen to the tape to see if the melody was as moving as the words. Yet even he could identify lingering tension between Dean and Sam, so he refrained from asking. _

_By the time night fell Cas was equal parts weary and restless. They hadn't stopped since the gas station; it seemed Dean was determined to reach Detroit as soon as possible. Left with little else to do, Cas stretched out on the backseat and closed his eyes. It wasn't long before he became dimly aware of Sam and Dean's low but emotional discussion. He peered at them from partially-lidded eyes._

"_You can't ask me to do this," Dean was saying. He had looked sharply at his brother, reluctance in his gaze. _

"_I'm sorry, Dean, you have to," Sam told him. Though he spoke softly, there was firmness in his tone. _

_Dean fell silent for a few moments. "So what am I supposed to do?" he asked. Cas heard the hurt, the pain, beneath the sarcasm. _

"_You go find Lisa-" Dean had turned away to mutter to himself as Sam spoke- "You pray to God she's dumb enough to take you in. You have barbeques, go to football games. You go live some normal, apple pie life, Dean." When he didn't respond for some moments Sam indicated the backseat. "And if she tells you to get lost, there's Cas."_

"_Cas?"_

"_Yes, Cas."_

_Dean smirked. "Barbeques with an angel- yeah, that'll go over real well."_

"_Look, Dean," Sam said, turning to face him. "You can say whatever you want but I know there's a lot more going on here. I don't know when it happened and I don't care- I just need you to promise me you'll put all this behind you, no matter what you do."_

_A heavy silence fell. Castiel watched Sam's face, could see him almost holding his breath on the hope that Dean would agree. When he looked back to Dean, there was no hope in his eyes. He looked more torn than before, but after a long time, he finally conceded. Sam bowed his head, turned away to gaze out of the window. Cas heard Dean mumble, 'Dammit,' under his breath but he said nothing more. The angel lowered his gaze, sighed and wished there was something he could do. _

_Some time later he realized the car no longer moved. Glancing up, he saw the row of gas pumps outside the window. As he sat up he spotted Dean behind the wheel, solemn, silent. Sam was nowhere to be seen. _

_At seeing Castiel's reflection in the rear view mirror Dean gave a small but bitter smile. "Guess it's just gonna be me and you then, Cas," he stated gruffly. "When you decide to go crazy hippie on me, let me know. Wouldn't want to shock the neighbors at the local barbeque." _

_Castiel understood Dean was referencing the future Zachariah had shown him. "The demon blood will raise Sam's chance of success, Dean." _

"_Yeah, thanks for the reminder," Dean snapped. He turned to send Cas a scowl. "Like I already didn't feel like hell as it is."_

_Cas's voice softened. "I'm sorry."_

_Dean briefly turned away. "Sorry. Sure," he muttered. He covered his eyes with his hand, let out a deep sigh. "Be honest with me, man: do you really think this will work?"_

"_Our choices are few."_

"_That's not what I asked." His tone was sharp, but there was also a tremor in his voice. _

_Cas paused to consider his answer. His first instinct was to list the odds against the plan succeeding. But the longer he studied Dean's face, the more he understood. It wasn't the truth he was looking for. He wanted Cas's reassurance. _

"_Sam is strong," he offered quietly. "Strong in ways that we may have overlooked in the past, including you. He'll be stronger because he has your support."_

_Dean swallowed, gave a short nod. "And you, Cas?" he asked, looking over at him. _

_At first Cas believed he was referencing Sam, recalled the conversation the brothers had while believing the angel had been asleep. "I am here for you, Dean," he said simply. "Whatever you need me for."_

_Dean's eyes flashed with emotion, but he said nothing. Instead he simply gazed at Cas thoughtfully, as if trying to solve some inner problem. Cas furrowed his brow. Perhaps he needed something more. Ah! Of course. However, just as Cas wanted to ask if he'd listen to the tape, Dean's next words stunned him. _

"_Yeah. But what happens when you get your mojo back?"_

_Before Castiel could respond Dean pushed the door open and strode off. He stared after him, left with only questions over what he had said wrong._

* * *

"Oh dear. I can always tell when you're thinking about your favorite howler monkey."

Castiel blinked, took a moment to register he was attending the auction, then glanced over to find Balthazar leaning against the wall. The smile he sent him was small, pitying. "No one else makes you look so pathetically sad."

Cas rose to his feet to face his brother. "Why are you here, Balthazar?"

"I'd ask you the same thing, but I think I already know. No, no," he said, lifting a hand to stall Cas's response. "We'll save that unpleasant discussion for later. I'm here to ask you about him," he said, gesturing toward Raphael's minion.

"You are auctioning heavenly relics. I expect our brothers to show some interest," Castiel answered. "A lot of them shouldn't be handled by humans."

"Fortunately for all of us none of them come with instructions," Balthazar told him with a smooth smile. "Well, ones that humans can understand. But angels? We're a different story."

Castiel looked past him as another relic was carried off stage. "Are you worried he's here to take them back?"

"If he was, he'd be bidding on all of them. He's here for something else that's heavenly, I think. And my instinct is telling me to make a discreet exit."

Castiel acknowledged Balthazar's concern with a small nod. "It's true. They're not here for the relics."

Though he seemed to have been expecting this to be true, Balthazar's smile was strained. "Well then," he commented. "Looks like we both better see to our fortunes."

"Balthazar-" Cas began, but his brother had vanished. Alone now, he debated on the wisdom in staying; in the end he chose to return to the dressing room, and Dean. As he took his leave he glimpsed Raphael's minion watching him. Their eyes met briefly before the other angel sent him a scornful look and resumed watching the auction. Cas had barely cleared the doors just as the auctioneer announced the next artifact.

* * *

Dean was a creature of action. Leave the planning and researching to the others; turn him loose to do what he did best, then let him drink on his success later.

This was at the forefront of his mind as he prowled Castiel's dressing room. He had already set the trap- he didn't need to be exceptionally creative with its placement, for none of the angels _ever_ seemed to know they were trapped until it was too late- so now he was left with nothing to do but wait. He thought about taking a nap on the couch, found he was too wired to even lie down. Sitting didn't work for him either. So now he was left with exploring the room in order to pass the time. As Dean took in the array of clothes hanging in Cas's closet, he was as shocked as he was curious over the kind of clients he had. Never mind what he probably had to do to get some of the pricey things just sitting on a nearby table. Dean poked through the collection of watches, jewels, money clips- wait, was that a set of keys for a Ferrari?- and shook his head. Castiel was sitting on a small fortune; Dean might have had five bucks in his pocket.

As he stepped away from the table his toe caught on the edge of a box underneath it. He nearly toppled over because of it, and swore loudly as he regained his balance. He glowered at the offending box, went to shove it further under the table when he spotted a familiar brown book inside. Dropping to a knee, Dean took up the book, his smile rueful as he flipped through it. John Winchester's journal was as much a record of his thoughts as it was a how-to for the novice hunter. As he glanced at some of the pages he gave a little grunt.

_Remember when you used to just hunt down wendigos and vamps? _

After a moment he shrugged and sat on the floor. It never hurt to refresh his memory. Besides, what else was he going to do? But as Dean opened it to the middle a collection of papers slipped free from the back. Business cards were tucked among the papers- his heart caught in his throat at seeing Bobby's FBI 'number'- plus some receipts and old mail. Dean gathered them into a little pile by his knee, pausing when he saw an envelope with Cas's name on it. In _his _handwriting.

Suddenly he thought of Marty McFly sticking that oh-so-important letter into Doc's jacket before he went back to 1985, and Dean's reservations about reading it vanished. It'd be nice to know what the hell his evil twin thought about...well, everything. Dean unfolded the letter, noted it had been written on torn pages of loose-leaf paper and started to read. After he finished the first sentence he had to take a moment to gather his composure before he continued:

_Cas,_

_First off I'm not really good at these things. But if I don't get this out now that's it. I won't get another chance._

(The line had been scribbled out several times. Dean couldn't read it.)

_I've gotta be honest: being with you makes me happy as hell. I mean, I'm freaking thrilled. You're hilarious, you know that? You're always making me laugh._

_You make me worry too. Pestilence, zapping yourself and the angels to wherever. Disappearing without telling me where you're going. I hate that. I never know if it's gonna be the last time._

(Dean could relate to that. He had been carrying the feeling with him ever since he first got to Purgatory. There was another scribbled line here, just as illegible as the other one.)

_You also snore. You always steal the covers. You manage to use all the hot water no matter where we stay. You like to eat my food. Then you look at me and it's like I can't breathe. No one, I mean no one, makes me feel like that._

(The reference to Cas's bedroom habits made him shift in place, and Dean was glad he was alone. Still, he couldn't deny the emotion in his evil twin's words, or the sudden ache they made in his own heart. It was true. No one else but Cas ever made him feel like this.)

_What I'm trying to say is I need you, Cas._

_I _**need**_ you. _

_This thing we've got, I've never had it before. Don't even have a name for it. And I'm scared as hell of losing it. I don't want you to go away._

_We're staring at a dark tunnel and Michael and Lucifer are waiting for us at the end. If there's any way for me to make sure we all get out of this, I'm gonna take it. No matter what it is. There's a chance I gotta face life without my brother. Sorry, but I can't face it without you too._

_Dean_

The letter slipped from his hands. Dean drew in a shaking breath as he absorbed the implications of what his evil twin said. More importantly, what he _meant. _Despite the promise he had made to Sam, to Cas, the other Dean had still been looking for a way to spare them. Well, he had succeeded. And at one hell of a price.

Dean's next dilemma was whether or not he should show it to Cas. It'd help him understand at least; it had been his evil twin's intent for him to read it. But as Dean's gaze lingered on the emphasis under the word 'need', and his throat tightened, he knew showing it to Cas now would upset him, or worse, piss him off. After folding it he tucked it into the envelope, set it back inside the box and sighed. Dammit. Life really _was_ easier when it was just about hunting monsters.

The rush of wings alerted him. Dean stood just in time to find Castiel standing by the doorway. The angel spared him any explanation as to what he was doing with his next words.

"Balthazar will be here any moment. Is it ready?"

Grateful for the much-needed shift in focus, Dean nodded. "Let's do this."

Castiel approached the cluttered table, grabbed a gold Zippo Dean hadn't noticed before and tossed it to him. "Light it as soon as he arrives. We need to get that horn, and we're running out of time."


	13. Chapter 13

Michael was sitting at a table in the lounge attached to the bar when Crowley appeared opposite him. The King of Hell gave him a small smile that was nonetheless strained around the edges.

"I've just heard the third complaint today concerning the whereabouts of some of my feathered employees," he began without preamble. "I don't suppose you are aware of this."

Michael regarded the King of Hell coolly. "I am."

Crowley appeared to be waiting for Michael to say more. When he didn't he leaned forward. The nonchalance he usually employed was gone now. "Refresh my memory. Our arrangement concerned the kitten, and the kitten only, did it not?"

"Castiel is not the only angel in your employ, Crowley," he explained. He saw the fingers on his right hand twitch, very slightly, ignored it. It appeared that Crowley had not seen it either. "I will be taking all my brothers and sisters home. They have been denied paradise for too long."

Crowley set his jaw. "Spare me your familial concerns, angel," he drawled. "I'm running a business here, and having my staff taken without my knowledge hurts said business. I'm sure you understand."

Michael now leaned forward, locked eyes with Crowley. The demon had the good sense to back off, if only a little. "The only thing you should concern yourself with is my allowing this establishment to remain," he said in low tones. "I have sent my brothers to those in your employ with words only. I promised to let Castiel fulfill his obligations tonight; I am extending the same courtesy to the others. If any should flee I will ensure they are returned."

"I don't need your boys to fetch what's mine," Crowley retorted and snapped his fingers. A pair of demons appeared behind him. After issuing orders for the fallen angels to be watched closely, and the demons vanished, Crowley turned to Michael. "I'm disappointed in you, Michael. I had thought our business partnership to be a little more open."

"And you thought wrong," Michael answered calmly. He saw the remark hit home. Crowley managed another tight smile before he vanished.

Alone now, Michael turned his attention to the group of patrons at the bar. At spotting Sam Winchester among them, the look of astonishment on his face, Michael felt his right hand tremble more, tightened it into a fist. Doing well to hide his annoyance, he sent the young Winchester a courteous nod. Sam's face soon turned cold (it was incredible how much he resembled Lucifer) before he started forward. Michael lifted a brow. Well, this would be interesting.

It wasn't as interesting as Gabriel appearing in front of Sam, a restraining hand on his chest. "Hey, slow down there, kiddo," Gabriel said smoothly. He turned to send Michael a smile that was without warmth. "Let me handle this."

Sam pointed past Gabriel's shoulder, his face dark. "No," he growled. "Let me talk to him."

Gabriel patted Sam's chest as if soothing an agitated animal. "All in good time."

"Gabe-"

Michael watched his brother turn to face Sam, take a fistful of his shirt and draw him closer. There was a whispered conference- Sam was shaking his head, and Gabriel gave him a little shake- before Sam relented. Michael saw him grasp Gabriel's hand, tightly.

After Sam had walked away Gabriel turned to him, gave a helpless smile. "Kids, huh?" he commented airily. "Never smart enough to stay away from dangerous things."

Michael favored him with a tiny smile. "Sometimes they need to be burned before they understand the fire is harmful."

"Then it's a good thing he has me watching over him," Gabriel countered. He stood at the other side of the table now, the smile gone from his face. "No one knows better how much Sam's been burned."

Michael made a little sound of understanding. "I see. Is that why you have refused my offer to come home? Don't you miss Heaven, brother?" he asked. "There is no disorder or chaos. There is only peace."

"Are you kidding? There's more chaos up there than on Earth. Sorry," Gabriel told him firmly. "To hell with you, brother. I think I'll take my chances here." With that Gabriel was gone.

There was a rush of wings at Michael's shoulder. "Shall I retrieve him?" Raphael asked, his tone indicating he would love nothing more.

"No." Michael stood. "I will see to Gabriel. He will obey my commands. They all will."

"And if they don't?"

Michael fixed Raphael with a stern gaze. "Then I will do what I must."

* * *

Silence stretched between Dean and Castiel as they waited for Balthazar's arrival. Cas was like a statue, his back to Dean, hands at his sides. He watched the doorway intently. As for Dean, he leaned against the wall, his arms crossed. He couldn't stop thinking about the contents of his evil twin's letter, or ignore the sense that he probably should tell him. However, it all became moot the instant they saw they weren't alone.

Balthazar appeared right where Dean expected him to, a look of disdain on his face as he looked past Castiel. "Still with us I see," he commented. "Cas, why don't you send your other Dean Winchester someplace else while we have a chat?"

"He is not going anywhere. Dean," Cas said in commanding tones.

Dean flashed a grin, lit the Zippo and threw it onto the floor. A ring of fire circled Balthazar. He took in the flames with an angry scowl. "How dare you," he hissed at Dean, who now stood beside Cas. "Release me at once."

"Not until we have discussed the location of Gabriel's horn," Castiel informed him gruffly.

Balthazar's gaze shifted to Cas. "What? So you can end the world? Didn't I already tell you how I felt about that?"

"Yeah, well, now things are different. Big brother's here for all of you," Dean put in smugly.

"I'm well aware of the situation, you talking monkey," Balthazar retorted. "I came up here to offer you a way out, Cassy. I've got some favors owed to me. Believe it or not, but I'm concerned about you."

"Concerned? You?" Dean scoffed. "Sorry if I don't buy it."

"Do I look like I care what you think?"

"Enough," Castiel commanded. He turned to Balthazar, spread his hands in a pleading gesture. "Help me. Bring me the horn. We have to put things to rights. It's the only way."

Balthazar's laugh was sharp. "No offense, Cas, but the last time you tried to put something to rights, you ended up working for the King of Hades. Don't get me started on the reason why you did it."

Dean saw Cas flinch from the slight and stepped forward. "He's got me helping him this time. So you either shut up and give us the horn, or we leave you here for Michael."

Balthazar scowled at Dean, then glanced over at Cas. His expression softened, just a bit. "You know what will happen when Gabriel uses the horn. It's not just going to be this place that gets destroyed."

A flash of regret shone in Cas's eyes. "I know what to expect. And it's as you said: the last time I tried this on my own, I made it worse," he added. "I could use your help, brother."

Silence passed. At last Balthazar nodded and sighed, as if assuring himself of something. "Well then," he murmured with a helpless smile. "Who am I to say no to that face? Very well, Cassy. I'm officially on your team. Not yours," he amended with a sharp look at Dean. "You- or at least, one aspect of you- got him into this mess in the first place. You bastard."

"Hey, man, whatever helps you sleep at night," Dean retorted with a disinterested shrug.

Cas lifted his hand. The flames died down. "Where is the horn?"

Balthazar stepped over the blackened ring with an audible sound of relief. He approached the sideboard to help himself to a drink. "Ah yes. The horn," he said, turning to face them, the glass at his lips. He appeared thoughtful for a moment. "I broke it."

Dean stared. "You _what_?"

"Broke it. Hey, I was protecting myself," Balthazar defended. "I wasn't exactly thrilled with a second Apocalypse, you know."

Castiel took the few steps that separated them and had Balthazar by the collar. He moved so swiftly even Balthazar was taken aback. "Where are the pieces?" he demanded in a low voice.

"Scattered them. I wasn't looking where I dropped them," Balthazar explained hastily.

Cas released him with a sound of disgust and turned to Dean. "We must get them. We don't have much time."

"Right, exactly, so if I were you I'd start hunting them down," Balthazar advised them with a little smile and vanished.

"Son of a bitch," Dean swore angrily. "Cas, how the hell are we supposed to find the horn?" he demanded.

"We must-" Cas paused at the sound of someone knocking. Before he knew it, Dean had been shoved into the closet, the door slamming shut in his face. As he peered through the slit in the door he smirked. What was it with him and closets in this place?

"Castiel?" ventured a male voice from the hall.

Cas opened the door, nodded to whoever was outside. "What is it?"

"Mr. Crowley sent me to tell you that you're expected to start work an hour earlier today."

Dean saw Cas's eyes narrow but he bowed his head, then closed the door. Dean had just emerged from the closet when the angel turned to him.

"I must get ready for my shift."

"Screw the shift, what about the horn?" Dean demanded irritably.

"Gabriel will have to seek it out. I will send you to him," he said, approaching Dean with his hand lifted.

He shied away. "Wait. I can't just leave you. I got a bad feeling about this. Why would Crowley make you start earlier?"

"I imagine it has something to do with Michael being here. I'll be fine, Dean," he assured him. "You have to get word to Gabriel and Sam."

Dean stared at Cas for some moments, wanting to stay with him- even though it'd be awkward as hell considering what he'd be doing- but knowing he needed to go over plans with Gabriel. "All right. But the minute things get weird you find me, got it? We can't screw this up."

The way Cas looked at him made Dean regret his choice of words. But the angel nodded his agreement and gently touched Dean's brow. The dressing room was instantly transformed to the area back stage. Dean took a moment to sort his thoughts before he started walking. Stage hands moved about, either oblivious to his passage or ignoring him completely. He was so focused on peering around every corner, into every doorway, that when he abruptly collided with someone it nearly knocked him over.

"Dean!"

Though there was relief in Sam's voice, it was the anxiousness in it that concerned him more. "Sam? What's wrong?"

It looked like Sam was having difficulty finding the words. His eyes flashed with anger, helplessness. "It's Gabriel," he answered thickly.

"What about him?" Dean searched Sam's face, didn't like what he saw. He frowned. "Hey, what happened? Where is he?"

Sam's hands clenched as he took in a deep, shuddering breath. "Come on. I'll show you."

Dean didn't like the sound of that one bit, but he nodded and fell into step behind his brother.

Sam took them through a doorway leading into a hallway. It was darker here, and far more cluttered. Rows of doors stood to either side, looked as if they had been abandoned for years save the one at the far end. Light shone from beneath it. Sam pushed his way in first. When Dean followed him he was checked by the sight that greeted him.

Gabriel sat on the floor, his head bowed, one arm draped over his middle. Blood streamed down the side of his head from the gash there. Worst of all, he could see bits of Gabriel's Grace shining from his gut wound. As Sam knelt down to start dabbing at the gash with a blood-soaked rag, Dean felt his stomach drop. If Gabriel was out of commission, their plan was not only screwed, but he was as good as stranded.

"What the hell happened to him?" he asked, stepping further inside and shutting the door.

"Michael," Sam explained in sharp tones. He tilted Gabriel's head back, gently, to get at the blood along his neck. "I saw him at the bar and wanted to talk to him, but Gabe stopped me. He told me to wait for him here. When he didn't come back right away I went looking for him. Found him outside like- like this."

Dean leaned in closer to get a better look at Gabriel's injuries. Damn, but Michael really did a number on the guy. "Is he...?"

"No, but he's not good either. He was barely conscious, Dean. I had to carry him here."

Anger now had a hold of Dean, and he punched the wall. "Dammit," he growled. He ran his hand down the length of his face. "We got a problem, Sammy. It's the horn."

"What about it?" Sam's face brightened for a moment. "Did Balthazar have it?"

"Yes and no," Dean answered, then proceeded to explain. At the story's conclusion he looked back at Gabriel and grunted. "Cas says he should be able to find the pieces, but now...shit, I don't know," he grumbled, sitting back on his haunches. For the first time since he arrived, he began to feel doubt creeping up on him. It settled around his heart, held in place there by the disastrous thought of never being able to get back home. Never seeing his brother or Castiel again.

"No, it's not too late, Dean. We can figure this out. That's what you always say, right?"

Dean's chuckle was bitter. "So tell me how we're supposed to hunt down who the hell knows how many pieces of an archangel's horn?" When Sam couldn't offer any suggestions Dean looked away. "Son of a bitch," he muttered. When he said it again, louder, he punched the wall a second time.

"All right, all right, I'm awake," sounded a weary but annoyed voice. As Dean glanced over to find Gabriel watching him sourly, Sam's face lit up like a Christmas tree.

"Gabe!" he cried, a hand going to his shoulder.

Gabriel favored him with a small, assuring smile. "You think I'd check out on you like this?" he said, patting Sam's cheek roughly.

Sam laughed a little, then embraced him. As Dean watched them, took in the look of absolute relief on Gabriel's face, he couldn't help but wonder if he'd get the same from Castiel when he found him. Hell, just thinking about hugging the angel now brought on that same, aching feel he had come to associate with missing Castiel.

Sam finally drew back to continue tending to Gabriel's wounds. The archangel fixed Dean with a look that fairly said, 'Tell me everything.' When he had, Gabriel frowned.

"Balthazar broke my horn." He tutted. "Well, that's inconvenient."

The somewhat weak statement didn't match the urgency of the situation at all. "Inconvenient?" Dean echoed.

"A little. But don't worry too much, Dean," he assured him flippantly. "Sam here knows what will perk me right up," he said, giving a lecherous smile at his insinuation.

Dean rolled his eyes and stood. "I bet," he drawled. "I'll just wait outside. Sam?"

His brother had set the cloth aside and was assisting Gabriel to a dusty chair in the corner. "I got it, Dean. Just don't freak out at what you hear. It'll be all right."

If Dean needed any more encouragement to leave, then this was it. He gave a tight smile and quickly took his leave, shutting the door at his back. He paced, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. This latest wrench in the plan was doing nothing for his nerves. Between the deal with Crowley, Cas's call girl routine, the broken horn and its owner getting his ass kicked by Michael- not to mention what Sam was doing to 'perk' him up- it was any wonder it all hadn't come crashing down before this.

When Dean heard a grunt from the other room his first instinct was to walk away. But when he heard it again, this time followed by a pained cry, he raced to the door. At finding it barred he banged on it. "Sammy!" he cried, panicked. "Sam!"

There was a flash of light, forcing him to shield his eyes. When it receded he tried the door again, found it opened and stormed in. He took in the sight of Sam on one knee, his head tilted back, the pained grimace on his face and shot Gabriel a furious look.

"Whoa, there, relax," Gabriel assured him. He stood beside Sam, a hand on his shoulder. While Sam looked drained, Gabriel appeared perfectly fine. "Just got a little soul pick-me-up."

"A soul _what_?" Dean demanded.

"Angels can draw power from human souls," Sam explained in raspy tones. He winced as he rose to his feet. "Gabe's injuries needed to be healed so he could find the horn."

"Which is where I'm off to right now," Gabriel stated with a smile.

"Hold it," Dean said just as Gabriel went to walk away. "You just gonna leave Sam like this?"

"He'll be fine. He's a trooper. Besides, he's got big brother here watching over him," he added, slapping Dean on the back for emphasis. "Just try not to get into too much trouble while I'm gone." He looked past Dean to Sam, and something passed across his face. He looked like he wanted to say something else, then decided against it. He was gone with a snap of the fingers.

As soon as he vanished Sam bent at the waist, prompting Dean to run over to steady him. "Sammy?"

He exhaled slowly. "I'm fine," he assured him. "Come on. We should get you somewhere safe. It's almost time for the club to open."

Dean, not about to start any fireworks before they were ready, nodded his agreement. He followed Sam back toward the stage, not liking the unsteady way his brother walked one bit. They had just cleared the side entrance when a demon appeared in front of them, halting the brothers' pace. Sam prepared to go on the offensive, but Dean restrained him.

The demon smiled. "Mr. Crowley will see you," he stated.

As Dean stared at the demon he frowned. Of course Crowley needed him right now. This, on top of everything else that recently happened, drew the only appropriate response from Dean.

"Son of a bitch."

* * *

Unlike the other instances Castiel readied himself in anticipation for the start of a shift, his thoughts and feelings were focused, steady. Yes, the plan had experienced some bumps in the road, but his confidence in Gabriel's ability to recover the horn, as well as in Dean, hadn't affected his belief in its success. All he needed to do was get through the next few hours before he could officially close this chapter of his life. There was very little about it he could be proud of. Nor did he dwell on what the future held for him. His only concern was freeing Dean.

"So," said a voice that made him freeze. "This is what you have become."

Castiel's eyes went to the mirror running the length of the wall in front of him, saw Michael standing by the doorway. He drew himself up, even as his heart beat double time. He had not expected to see Michael- _Dean_- here.

Michael turned to idly pick through the bowl of gifts from clients. "You've fallen quite far, Castiel," he observed, disappointment evident in his voice. "There is much work for me to do to bring you back to Heaven's light."

Castiel turned to face him, glad that he had the full power of his Grace at his disposal. Otherwise he knew this unexpected meeting would have been disastrous. "Why are you doing this?"

Michael looked to him. "What?"

"Why did you wait this long to take an interest in what was happening here?"

"I needed time to mold Heaven to how our father always envisioned it. Now that it is done, I am looking to restore our family. I am weary of the in-fighting, Castiel," he admitted. "Lucifer's betrayal has left deep scars on us all. I want to help heal them."

"By help you mean forcing us," Castiel interpreted with a slight frown. "It won't work, Michael. We should be free to make our own choices."

Michael regarded him coolly. "It is my duty to ensure that we are a family again. That duty alone is all that's sparing you from the same punishment Lucifer endured for your transgressions."

The tone he used was the same as that day, so long ago. Cas couldn't keep from feeling a chill course through him. "I won't let you do it."

"You?" Michael gave a little disbelieving smile. "What makes you so certain of your ability to convince me? Ah, yes," he said. "You forget, Castiel. He's not here anymore. He has been gone since the day he surrendered himself to me. As you will soon learn."

"No." Cas's voice was rough. "Michael, wait-" But the archangel had already vanished.

Cas stared at the space he once occupied for some moments. He could feel sorrow and despair threatening to overtake him.

Was it true?

Was Dean really gone?

* * *

When Michael reappeared in a darkened hallway at floor level he was forced to lean against the wall for support. Going to Castiel had been a test, not only to gauge his fallen brother's strength but to ensure himself that Dean Winchester was truly gone. As he took in the trembling of his hand, the shortness of breath, he knew the latter was fast becoming a problem.

_Don't you dare hurt him, you son of a bitch._

Michael looked up, seeing his own reflecting staring back at him. No, not his. Dean Winchester. Somehow, he had broken through the barriers Michael had created to show himself. The determination radiating from that part of his mind that belonged to Dean was a testament to the human's strength. Michael had no such respect for it now.

_Not as strong as you thought, huh? Go on, you bastard- try and shut me up. I'll just come back. I'm not letting you win this time._

Michael glowered at his reflection, called upon his power. Within moments all that was Dean Winchester was gone from his face. Michael took a few minutes to collect himself, then started down the hall.

Once he had completed his task here, he would see to it that Dean Winchester's soul was removed from this vessel.

Permanently.


	14. Chapter 14

Dean stood between his brother and the demon, his mind working feverishly to catch up to this unexpected circumstance. He drew in a deep breath, exhaled. "Give me a minute to talk to him," he requested, indicating Sam with a jerk of the chin. The demon nodded his head, then stepped away.

"What are you doing? You can't go to him now," Sam protested after Dean drew him aside. "I won't let him switch you with Michael."

"You think _I'm_ going to let him do that?" Dean replied in a harsh whisper. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure the demon was out of earshot. He then pulled the special key from his pocket, pressed it into Sam's hand. "Crowley's probably going to keep me in his office until it's showtime. It's on the top floor, but this key will get you past the hexes. As soon as Gabriel gets back you guys grab me. Understand?"

Sam nodded, though he was still frowning. "All right. You gotta promise me you'll stall him as long as you can. I don't know when Gabe will get back."

Dean answered him with a smile and clap on the back. "Don't worry. I'm sure I'll think of something."

This less-than-reassuring statement only deepened Sam's frown. But he gripped Dean's shoulder, nodded.

After they parted the demon transported Dean to the stairwell leading to Crowley's office. As he followed the demon he turned his thoughts to how he'd avoid the ol' switcheroo now that he couldn't rely on Gabriel's smoke and mirrors. When he crossed the threshold to find Crowley sitting at his desk, an expectant smile on his face, Dean knew he'd better think fast, or else they'd all be screwed.

"So good of you to come back, Dean," Crowley began after he dismissed the demon. "Are you ready to play the role God intended for you?"

Dean smirked at the bad joke. "Not really. I've heard being an angel sucks."

"That depends on who you listen to, and what part of an angel is being referenced in your case," Crowley countered with a little smile. He stood, rounded the desk to lean against the corner. "Sit," he invited, gesturing toward the chair. When Dean hesitated Crowley gave an exasperated sigh. "I don't plan on locking you in any closets. I'm sure you get enough practice on your own."

He bit back his want to retort- the closet jokes were getting real old real fast- gave a little, mocking smile and took a seat. Crowley smiled down at him like a cat with a bird in its paws.

Dean stared at Crowley.

Crowley stared right back.

Another uncomfortable moment passed, and Dean scowled. "Is this what we're gonna this whole time?"

Crowley's smile widened.

An invisible force suddenly settled over Dean, keeping him trapped in the chair. He struggled against it, gave up the effort with an irritated grunt and sent Crowley a heated glare.

"There, that's better. I want my ace to remain up my sleeve and not wandering about. In fact, I think I'll tuck baby brother away too," he announced and snapped his fingers. A pair of demons appeared with Sam dangling limply between them.

Dean instantly tensed. "Leave him alone, Crowley," he growled, his fists clenching. "This deal's between you and me."

"And now I'm activating my insurance policy," he replied smoothly, rising to his feet. He gestured to the demons, who dragged Sam to the second chair. He slumped over, his chin touching his chest. Dean pulled against his bonds, gritted his teeth.

"You son of a bitch."

"Son of a witch, actually," Crowley informed him, as if correcting a child. "Mommy showed me a thing or two; the lessons have really paid off when it comes to the dynamic duo." He strolled toward the door, as casual as ever. "Sit tight, boys," he called over his shoulder. "I'll see to you later."

After Crowley had gone Dean looked over at his brother. "Sam? Sammy!" he called. There was no response; Sam was most likely still suffering from the side effects of the soul squeeze. As Dean glanced back at the demon Crowley left to guard them, he hoped Gabriel was as prompt with rescues as Castiel.

* * *

The first few hours passed by without Castiel's notice. Just about the only thing he did notice was he wasn't as weary after each session. That he credited to being at full power again. It also helped partition the part of his mind that was actively focused on what still needed to be done, and on what Michael had said. His mind didn't need to be a part of the equation when his body responded just fine on its own.

Halfway through his shift he signaled for the demon who escorted the clients to his room. It had once been Balthazar's job; however, once they had learned of the horn he hadn't been back. After informing the demon he was taking his break, Cas closed the door in the other man's face and locked it. As he turned round, taking in the rumpled bedsheets, the discarded clothes, empty glasses, overturned wine bottle and tray of food, he exhaled. It was a great relief to be able to leave this behind. It was all thanks to Dean, and despite his not being from this reality. He hoped the Castiel Dean knew- and missed greatly although he hadn't spoken of it aloud- was aware of just how lucky he was.

When Castiel approached the mini fridge he glimpsed a figure manifest by the glass doors leading to the balcony. He looked up, not surprised to find Balthazar standing there. He greeted his arrival with a little nod.

Balthazar took one look at Cas, the hastily donned robe and shook his head. "It's not too late to leave now," he began. "You can still come with me."

"I appreciate the offer, but I can't," Cas told him, taking an unopened beer bottle and twisting the cap off. He took a sip, nodded. "We're very close to the end."

Balthazar made a small sound of assent. "You know the chances of this little plan of yours working are slim to none."

"Regardless, my mind is made up. There are people depending on me. I won't leave them again." He briefly glanced away, his throat tightening. "I can't fail him."

Balthazar studied him in silence for a few moments, as if unable to comprehend Cas's words. "He's probably gone, you know," he said quietly.

At this Cas turned on him. Fought back the panic tightening around his heart. "We don't know that for certain."

"Yes we do. Cas-"

"No," he interrupted sharply, and Balthazar subsided. When he spoke again, his voice was thick with emotion. "For three years you've been here but not once did you try to help me. It was Dean who saw to my freedom- it will _always _be Dean who has my best interests at heart. You have agreed to stand with me. Don't ask me to turn back now, not when he needs me most."

There was a brief pause before Balthazar smiled again, albeit sadly. "I always liked that about you," he said in a rare moment of honesty. It took Castiel by surprise. "You never did what was expected of you. I still don't quite understand the attachment to your howler monkey but..." he trailed off and shrugged. He then leaned against the wall, folded his arms. "So, tell me this: if you're so sure he's still in there, how will you draw him out?"

Castiel, who had smiled at Balthazar's words, now averted his gaze. With all their focus being on Gabriel's horn, neither had given much thought to how they'd free Dean. When he said as much Balthazar gave a little shrug.

"Oh I'm sure you'll figure it out, seeing as to how..._connected_ you two have always been." He stepped away from the wall and flashed a tiny smile. "Do me a favor and try not to get killed."

While this wasn't a promise he was entirely certain he could keep, Cas nodded. Balthazar lingered for a moment more, as if he had something else to say, but smiled again and vanished.

Castiel approached the glass doors and pushed them open, letting in a cool breeze. He lifted his gaze to the stars, sighed. As he thought more on Balthazar's words, it wasn't long before the sparse furniture on the patio gave way for the dark, cold alley that night in Detroit.

* * *

_Three years ago..._

_Bobby had gone ahead to scout the building. Castiel lingered by the cars with Sam and Dean, his hands in his pockets as he observed the brothers from a respectful distance. Sam was watching the street; every now and then he'd take a deep breath to steady himself. Dean, on the other hand, was silent and still. What he felt at the moment, however, was all in his eyes. Sometimes he'd look Cas's way, his throat flashing as he swallowed, before he looked away. Cas wanted to approach them both, give them some kind of comfort. He hadn't felt his powerless state so greatly as in those tense moments. _

_The sound of approaching footsteps drew their attention. Bobby walked toward them, a pair of binoculars in his hand. "Demons," he reported to Dean. "At least two dozen of them. You were right. Something's up."_

_Dean's face was like stone. "More than something. He's here, I know it," he stated. He then walked toward the trunk, giving his brother a swift look as he did so. _

_Sam turned to Bobby then. Castiel watched as they embraced, his chest tightening with pain. While he had faith in Sam's strength, he still feared for him, and sorrowed for the price to be had if victory was theirs. _

_After Bobby said his goodbyes, Sam looked to Cas, gave a little smile and approached him with his hand out. Cas knew the proper response was to shake it, but he found his attention drawn to the look in Sam's eyes._

_His smile was small, forced. "Take care of these guys, okay?"_

_Castiel was not that well versed in how humans said goodbye. Even through all the corrections Dean had made for him, and all the behavior he had witnessed in movies and television, part of him could not comprehend the need to smooth over farewells. So when his response was a regrettable truth- he could not look after them, not the way Sam intended- Sam gave a little, exasperated sigh. Behind them, Cas saw Dean look away, his hand curling into a fist._

_Sam leaned closer, lowered his voice. "Please...just be there for Dean," he requested. "Don't let him be alone." _

_This was something Sam didn't need to ask of him. Cas nodded. He then took Sam's hand, pressed it gently. Sam let the contact linger for a moment more, nodded again and moved toward Dean. Cas met Dean's eyes before he moved away to stand near Bobby. _

_After a brief silence Dean left Sam alone to take in the demon blood. He made it a point not to look in his brother's direction. Cas kept his gaze focused on Dean's face, again wished that there had been another way. _

_Sam signaled he was done by closing the trunk. When Cas looked over at him, he could sense the power now coursing through his body. Though it was impossible, it seemed Dean felt it too, for his expression didn't just reflect pain, but concern. As Sam swept past, and Dean started after him, Cas acted on impulse. He fell into step behind Dean with the intent of touching his shoulder in silent assurance. Instead, Dean reached behind him to grasp Cas's hand, very tightly, before he moved off. Castiel stood in the mouth of the alley, heavy hearted, as he watched the brothers approach what would be their toughest battle yet._

_Bobby and Castiel waited in tense silence. People who happened by the building shivered, gathered the layers of their clothing closer to their bodies. Castiel also felt the chill in the air, knew it was because of Lucifer. He had never known why his older brother's light was so cold. Or it could be he just didn't remember. Castiel's memories of the great war were sparse at best._

_There was a brilliant flash of light then, drawing a sharp gasp from Bobby. Cas very nearly ran toward the building; only Bobby's grip on his arm prevented him from giving in to what was pure instinct as far as the brothers were concerned. He squinted up at the window, saw shadows dart past. He could hear the faint echo of Dean's voice chanting the incantation that would open Lucifer's cage. A rush of air, more like an otherworldly groan, sounded. Bobby shivered at hearing it. Cas felt his hands clench inside his coat sleeves. Knew he was holding his breath. His heart pounded. _

_Was this it?_

_Would they never see Sam again?_

_All went still. Castiel exchanged glances with Bobby. The older man's eyes were filled with grief, regret. Though it didn't seem possible, Cas felt that the world was now that much colder without Sam Winchester._

_A figure abruptly raced headlong from the building- Dean. Cas almost went to him, but after taking one look at the panic and despair in Dean's face, he found himself rooted to the spot. _

_Bobby rushed toward Dean. "What's wrong? What happened?"_

_Dean was shaking his head. Tears trailed down his face. "It didn't work," he managed in distraught tones. "Lucifer- he was too strong."_

_Bobby's face paled. It looked like he had been punched in the gut. "No..."_

_Cas fought back his own fear. "The rings?"_

"_Gone. Lucifer's got them." Dean's face crumpled, and turned away from them. He pressed his hands to either side of his head. "Dammit, Bobby, we never should have let him do it..."_

_Bobby grabbed Dean's shoulder and spun him around. "Don't do this, son. Get a hold of yourself!" _

"_Don't you get it?" Dean cried, breaking away. The sheer anguish in his face cut through Castiel as sharply as a blade. "I couldn't do anything! I let him down! And now he's gone because of me!"_

"_Dean-"_

_But he shouldered past Bobby toward the alley. He kicked at a discarded can on the way, sending it careening down the street. _

_Bobby heaved a weary sigh and looked at Cas. "Well?" he prompted._

_Cas was briefly confused. "Well what?"_

_The older man rolled his eyes, took Cas by the back of his collar and shoved him forward with a surprising show of strength. "Don't just stand there looking pretty- go talk to him before the boy does something crazy."_

_Castiel glanced at him over his shoulder, nodded._

_He found Dean sitting on the back of the Impala, his head in his hands. His shoulders trembled from the sobs he was trying to fight. He didn't look up when Cas stood in front of him, or when he murmured his name._

_Cas waited another moment. "Dean," he ventured softly. "You're not to blame. We knew this would be the likely outcome."_

_When Dean lifted his head, and Cas got a good look at the pain in his eyes, he knew it was the wrong thing to say. "You know what, Cas? Screw you," he snapped. "I don't need you to logic me."_

"_I wasn't trying to insult you," he defended in quiet tones. "I wanted to soothe your conscience."_

"_Yeah, well, it didn't work," he grumbled. He glanced away, his hands tightening into fists at his knees. "So. Lucifer's wearing Sam. What now?"_

"_Now he will meet Michael on the appointed battlefield, and we all will die."_

_Dean sent Cas an annoyed look. "Dude. Do you even _listen_ to yourself sometimes?"_

_To this Cas furrowed his brow, uncertain of how to respond. Dean rolled his eyes and slid off the trunk with an incoherent mutter. He turned just as Bobby joined them. _

_His face was grim. "You better take a look at this," he said, gesturing for them to follow._

_They approached an electronics shop across the street. A small knot of people gathered in front of the televisions, the same look of astonishment on their faces at the snapshots of devastation from around the world. Castiel shook his head at the scenes and sent a sympathetic look Dean's way._

"_It's started. It will only become worse."_

"_Thanks for the heads up," Dean retorted. At seeing Cas's pained grimace he muttered something under his breath and started walking back toward the alley. "You say we're all gonna die when this thing goes down? Not if we stop it."_

"_Stop it?" Cas echoed, turning to watch him walk away. "How?"_

"_That's what I'd like to know," Bobby put in as he fell into step behind Dean._

_Dean waited until they were back in the alley before he faced them. First he looked at Bobby, then Cas. Of all the emotions in his eyes at that moment, the one Cas identified was desperation. It worried him._

"_Where's the showdown, Cas?" he asked._

"_I- I don't know. And even if I did, it won't do any good. You cannot stop Armageddon."_

"_Well, I'm not just going to sit here and do nothing," he countered hotly. He sent a look of appeal Bobby's way, but when the other man didn't speak up on his behalf he stared. "Bobby?"_

_It hurt to hear the pleading note in his voice. _

_Bobby was shaking his head. "I don't know what else to do," he admitted unhappily. "That's not Sam anymore."_

_Dean turned on Bobby at this, grabbed a fistful of his shirt. "No, don't you even think that!" he cried. "It _is _Sam, and right now he's going one on one with the damn devil. If you think I'm going to let him do it alone you're crazy."_

_Bobby stared into Dean's enraged face for a moment, shook his head again. It seemed to break something inside Dean, for he released him and took a shaky step back. "You really think he's gone," he murmured in disbelief. "Bobby, what if that was me? Would you think the same thing? Would _you_?" he demanded of Cas. When neither answered- Castiel knew the truth was not what Dean wanted to hear, nor did he want to think about it- Dean sent both a disgusted look and strode off. He yanked open the car door, threw himself into the driver's seat so hard the Impala shook. _

_Bobby rubbed the back of his neck and heaved a sigh. "Damned stubborn fool," he grumbled. "That's your cue, Romeo."_

_Cas met Bobby's gaze. This time he did not question what he meant. What Bobby implied was the same as Sam's last request. He nodded; Bobby smiled, patted the angel's shoulder in silent thanks before venturing for his van. _

_Dean was on the phone when Cas reached the car. He waited until he ended the call before speaking his name.  
_

_Dean spared him one glance as he turned the ignition, and the car roared to life. "You think I can't stop it," he began. Cas couldn't remember the last time he heard such pain in his voice. "I don't think I can either. But I'm going to talk to Sam."_

_Cas shook his head. "Please understand," he murmured. "All you will see is Michael killing your brother." _

_Dean's smile was as empty as his eyes. "So that's it, huh?" he said quietly. "Then I've really got nothing left to lose."_

_Castiel was stricken silent by this. Just as Dean went to put the car into gear Cas reached inside to grab onto his wrist. He held it so tightly the edge of Dean's watch drove into his palm. "No," he told him firmly. "I won't let you do it."_

"_Too damn bad, Cas. I'm going."_

"_That's not what I meant," he replied, and released him with a curt gesture. A few minutes later he had climbed into the passenger seat, closed the door with a sharp bang. He met Dean's gaze. _

"_I'm not letting you face this alone."_

_It took a moment for this to register with Dean; when it did he gave a small but grateful nod. After calling Bobby to tell him where they were headed Dean drove off. When he started down a dark road Cas couldn't help but compare it to their destination, and knew that despite all the uncertainty surrounding it, he wouldn't have it any other way. _


	15. Chapter 15

_Three years ago..._

_Stull Cemetery. The chosen battlefield of Armageddon, and, be it coincidence or irony, in the same town where Dean and Sam had been born- and had their lives turned upside down. But Castiel wasn't thinking of the particulars surrounding the reasons for that location. He was engaged in another battle, and it was just as personal._

_Dean had said very little those first few hours of driving. Even the radio was silenced. He kept his gaze fixed on the road, speeding past other vehicles when he needed to, slowing down whenever he spotted a cop car hiding in the brush. The tape Cas wanted Dean to hear sat in his pocket. As he gazed at Dean's hardened face, he knew there was never a better time to share the song. There was also never a worse one for it. Given where they were going, and what they would find once they arrived, it left little room for sentiment. Castiel was starting to believe it'd go unheard after all. Still, he was sure he could assure Dean with his presence, if nothing else. He hadn't rejected the idea of his accompanying him._

_It started to rain when Dean crossed over into Illinois. The light drizzle seemed to grow heavier and heavier the further west they went until the deluge eventually forced them off the road. Dean steered the car into the surrounding woods with sharp, jerky movements, put it into gear with an angry cry of, 'Dammit!'_

_Castiel watched him pound the steering wheel with both hands before he slumped in his seat. "Dean," he ventured. _

_He held up a finger. "Don't," he warned, running his hand down the length of his face. "Just don't."_

"_Don't what?"_

"_Tell me whatever the hell you were gonna say. I don't want to hear it." _

_Castiel bowed his head, and turned his gaze to the falling rain. _

_After a few moments of silence Dean punched the back of the seat so hard it startled Cas. He quickly looked over, stricken silent as he watched him continuously punch it while muttering curses. The brash anger that colored his words eventually gave way for anguish; after a final time he laid his head on the steering wheel, his arms concealing his face from view. _

"_Dammit," he rasped. "It never should have happened like this. I shouldn't have let him do it. It should have been me. Why wasn't it me..."_

_Castiel's breathing escalated slightly as he watched Dean fight against his volatile emotions. He couldn't let him sink any deeper into despair. He _wouldn't.

_Without a word he pulled the tape from his pocket, freed it from the case and inserted it into the radio. At seeing this Dean gave an irritated sound._

"_Not now, Cas," he growled. _

_Cas hit the play button, raised the volume. "Listen," he requested._

_As the opening riff started Dean sent him a disbelieving look. "Seriously?" His tone was cutting. "What the hell makes you think I wanna listen to that shit right now?"_

"_Dean," Cas said, louder and sharper in tone. Even as angry as he was, he still reacted with some surprise at Cas's command. The angel met his gaze. "Listen."_

_Dean scowled, turned away._

_The soft melody filled the car. Dean impatiently drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. Cas knew from experience he was only listening because he had been asked, not because he wanted to. But Cas said nothing to the contrary; he sat back in his seat, hands on his lap, lips moving soundlessly to the lyrics. When he started speaking louder Dean finally turned to look at him. Cas just nodded toward the radio as he continued to speak along with the words, hoped its message would be received. _

_Dean watched him, a little wide-eyed, for the duration of the song. He kept on watching him after it ended. Cas, feeling some pride at having been able to recite the words without a mistake, waited patiently. _

_Surprise, and some disbelief, crossed Dean's face. "Did you just..." he trailed off to laugh a little. "_Serenade _me with an Elton John song?" _

_Castiel nodded. "Yes. The song is by Elton John."_

_Dean mouthed 'oh', gave another small laugh. "Yeah...I thought that was what you did," he murmured before turning away._

_Cas waited for him to speak again. It was clear Dean was having difficulty understanding what happened. He rubbed the back of his neck, shook his head. _

_For a moment Cas felt he had been wrong. "The words didn't resonate with you as they did me."_

_The disappointment in Cas's tone drew Dean's eyes to his. "What? No. I mean yeah," he corrected swiftly. _

_Cas furrowed his brow. Dean's reaction confused him. "And the song?"_

_He averted his gaze. "What about it?"_

"_Did you like it?" he asked, unable to keep the hope from his voice._

_Another pause. "It's sappy," he stated. "I think I must have heard it in every chick flick I got dragged to. You hear one song like it you've heard them all," he added with a casual shrug._

_Castiel had not considered that. Unhappy that his attempt to reassure Dean fell through, he reached for the radio. "I see. I'll just-" _

_Dean's hand was on his wrist the instant he went to eject the tape. Their eyes met. Dean appeared to have some trouble finding his voice. At last he nodded and said, "Leave it."_

"_Leave it?" _

"_Yeah, it's all right," he went on in steadier tones. He had fallen back on an old tactic- nonchalant disregard- and even smiled. "Play it again if you want. I never said it was a _bad _song."_

_Cas studied Dean for a few moments. While he wasn't certain the request was born from regret or not, he rewound the tape and played it once more. Dean leaned back, his fingers slipping away from Cas's wrist slowly. _

_They sat in silence during the first few bars. When Cas heard Dean's voice in tune to the song, he started to recite the words too. Their eyes met once more; suddenly it didn't matter that the end of days was on the horizon, or that they were headed to their possible deaths. It was both strange and the most comfortable thing in the world to be sitting there, in the car in the middle of a rainstorm, listening to the radio and singing with him. _

_Castiel couldn't be sure when he identified the change in Dean's mood. Perhaps it was the way his face had softened, or the simultaneous wonder and realization he read in his gaze. It didn't matter. Cas laid his hand atop Dean's where it sat between them, linked their fingers together. Dean's voice trailed off then. His throat flashed as he swallowed. Cas nodded._

_Dean stared at their clasped hands, shook his head. Emotion shone in his eyes. "Dumb son of a bitch," he murmured, and Cas knew he was truly moved._

_In all the movies he had watched, Castiel often questioned why humans seemed to express the greatest intimate connections in times of distress. But as he drew Dean to him, and their lips met in a soft, almost hesitant kiss that brought forth memories of the first time, he knew the answer. It was when you understood that the person who had always sat across from you, stood at your side, laughed with you, fought for you and bled for you, was far more important than you realized. _

_Castiel didn't question how they managed to climb into the backseat, or how they succeeded in undressing. There was nothing so important, so _real_, to him as the feelings and sensations that waited. It wasn't like their other times. Those had been rough, passionate embraces, even when Castiel had been at full power. Dean had wanted it like that; hard and fast while never letting go had been his way of life. _

_Now all the roughness was smoothed away. Caresses were slower, kisses longer, deeper. When Castiel's laid his hand on Dean's left shoulder in a perfect mimicry of the mark he had made on his soul, and Dean gripped him tightly, the angel knew that this moment was as much a celebration of their union as it was a silent acknowledgment of the truth. They had met in the dark recesses of Hell; they had met again in a place as physically far from Heaven as it was figuratively close to it. _

_Afterward, Castiel lay atop Dean, his ear pressed to his chest so he could hear the beating of his heart. Dean had fallen asleep, his jacket bunched under his head as a pillow, his arms loosely wrapped around Cas. The windows were fogged, the air stuffy, but Castiel didn't care. He had given Dean the peace of mind he so desperately needed, and he had received the response he so hoped for. It would give both the strength needed to face tomorrow. Contented yet weary, he exhaled and closed his eyes. He listened to the patter of rain, the soft sound of Dean's breathing, as he drifted to sleep. _

_It wasn't long before Castiel heard sleepy murmuring. He lifted his head, expecting to find Dean awake. But his eyes were closed, brow furrowed. For a moment he appeared frightened. Cas sorrowed for him. Even in sleep all the demons in Dean's mind never gave him respite. _

_Dean's hand on Cas's back curled into a fist. Just as he turned his head away, Cas glimpsed a tear roll down his cheek. Cas reached out to wipe it away, pressed his hand to Dean's face. His touch settled him; the crease between his brows faded, and he blew out a long breath. When he whispered Cas's name he smiled softly, ran his fingers along his lips. Felt Dean press a kiss to his fingertip. A powerful feeling grew within Cas's chest then, made it suddenly very difficult to breathe. _

_For the first time since he rebelled against his family, he was able to at last describe the feeling that led him down this road. Because Castiel, angel of the Lord, loved Dean Winchester. He had loved him all this time. And he knew he always would._

_The storm had passed by morning. Neither spoke as they shrugged back into their clothing, or when Dean surprised Cas with a swift but meaningful kiss just as he went to get into the car. Dean said nothing as Cas rummaged through the tapes for the one he liked hearing at the start of every road trip. The comfortable silence carried them to the gas station and convenience store two hours later. Cas went into the store to buy coffee while Dean fueled the car. When he returned- a little upset that all the pies were sold out- he sat in the car to prepare his coffee as Dean went to the restroom. _

_He was just getting into the driver's seat when Cas turned to him and questioned the difference between creamer and half and half. For some moments Dean watched him, a little smile on his face. It was curious. _

"_You know what, Cas?" he said, turning the ignition. "I have no freakin' clue." He pulled out of the gas station, the wheel sliding idly beneath his hands. "I'll tell you this though: we're gonna make it. All of us. I don't know how yet, but we will. Trust me."_

_Castiel responded with a smile. As Dean sped up the angel leaned back in the seat, his thoughts going to what lay ahead. He had seen the strength of Dean's convictions before; he had no reason to doubt them now. _

* * *

Castiel turned away from the stars, and the memory. What had once been a source of anguish, anger and betrayal to him had been transformed to determination. Tonight, it would all come full circle. He was going to make sure of it.

As he brushed past the table he noticed the box beneath it had been shifted, but it was the white envelope peeking through the flaps that drew his notice. Curious, Cas knelt to pull it free. He had just grazed the envelope's surface when there was a knock on the door. He stood upright, momentarily confused. Had it been an hour already?

Calling a response to the demon in the hall, Cas went to the bathroom to change. The envelope, and its contents, retreated to the back of his mind. It could wait, for there were more pressing matters at hand.

* * *

Dean Winchester was thinking just how pressing the matter of escape was, but without knowing the hex bag's location, he was a sitting duck. Things didn't look too good for Sam, either. He had been out cold the whole time, his body gradually slipping lower and lower in the seat. The demon guard sat in Crowley's chair, his feet on the desk and skin magazine in hand. Dean remembered Crowley's disdain at finding a soiled glass; he could bet money the boss wouldn't like to see scuff marks on his desk.

Suddenly Sam slid to the floor, his head striking the edge of the arm rest, hard. The instant Dean saw blood trailing from a wound he shouted at the demon.

"Hey! He's bleeding!"

The demon glanced at Sam, disinterestedly. "And?"

"Check on him, or so help me I will rip your throat out," he vowed.

He received an amused chuckle. "Of course you will," he commented.

"Go help him, you dick," Dean insisted, his hands tightening into fists.

"In a minute," the demon responded lazily. He turned the magazine upright, smiled as the centerfold unraveled.

Dean gritted his teeth, shot a quick glance back at Sam. He looked like he was barely breathing. Though infuriated, he swiftly put his thoughts together, managed a little smile and looked back at the demon.

"Hey, douchebag- I didn't hear your boss say anything about us getting hurt."

At this the demon paused. Then he slapped the magazine down and rose with a heavy sigh. The look in his eyes was anything but pleasant as he headed toward Sam. Dean just flashed a smug smile. It never hurt to remind these guys that they were far more important alive than dead.

It also never hurt to be reminded that Sam could never be counted out; the instant the demon knelt to roll him over Sam's hand shot out, fingers grabbing at the demon's wrist.

"What the-?" he cried just as Sam sank his teeth into the demon's hand. Dean stared, wide-eyed, when Sam tore a chunk of flesh free. Blood trailed down the corners of his mouth, stained his chin. When his head shot up, his eyes flashed with power, and he sent the demon crashing into Crowley's desk. He stood up, a little shaky, but his expression was one of determination as he thrust his hand out. Black smoke spilled out from the demon's mouth to pool around him like water. Although Dean had watched Sam exorcize a demon like this plenty of times, it never ceased to send a little shiver of apprehension through him.

The smoke was reduced to ashes circling the guard. As soon as the demon was gone the body slumped over. Sam drew in a deep, steadying breath, turned to face Dean. "Can you get up?"

"No," Dean reported with a frown. "Think he's got me stuck here with witchcraft."

Sam was nodding. "Sounds like him. I'll find the hex bag."

"Do it fast," Dean insisted as Sam already started tearing into Crowley's desk. He watched him carelessly knock things over, then turn to root through the shelves. "Hey," he called, and his brother glanced at him. "What happened? How did they get you?"

"Caught me as I was coming back from the storeroom," he explained. He overturned a collection of books, felt along the shelf, the wall, before moving on to the table. "Just glad they didn't think to search me."

"Why?"

Sam smiled as he produced a pair of angel blades. "All the angels working for Crowley have to surrender them," he said, setting them on the desk. "I had a feeling we'd be needing them later."

Dean grinned. He felt near to bursting with pride. "Nice job, Sammy. Wait," he added. "Didn't you hit your head when you fell?"

Sam reached inside his mouth to pull out a spent capsule of fake blood. "Gabe's taught me a few tricks," he explained to Dean's gaping stare. "If I just fell you wouldn't have needed to get the guard to check me."

"That little son of a-" Dean cut himself off and gave a rueful shake of the head. "So you were awake the whole time?"

"Mostly," Sam responded, giving a helpless but apologetic smile. "Sorry, Dean. I had to fool you, too."

"Yeah I know," he grumbled. "Doesn't mean I like it."

"If there had been more time I would have- got it," he announced, pulling the hex bag from the niche in the wall. He had it open and dismantled in seconds.

As soon as Dean felt the restricting feeling fade he shot to his feet. He spared the pieces a brief, sour glance before heading for the exit. He caught the angel blade Sam tossed his way. "We gotta get back to Cas and tell him what's up," he said, tucking the blade inside his jacket. "We still need to figure out how we're gonna get me- the other Dean- outta Michael."

They started down the stairs. "It'll have to be during the play," Sam told him.

"What? Why?"

"Gabe told me Michael's going to participate as himself. That's why he spent all morning rehearsing it."

Dean could care less if Gabriel spent all century rehearsing that stupid play. "But why does Michael want to do it?"

"Who knows. Whoa, get back," Sam said, holding out his arm. Dean peered past him in time to see a pair of demons walking toward the stairwell. He had the angel blade in hand without a second thought. Sam saw it, nodded.

The brothers waited until the demons had passed before they struck. Dean stabbed one through the neck, Sam got the other in the back. Both gave gasping sounds before dropping to the floor. After they stashed them inside the stairwell, and Sam locked it with the special key, they hurried on.

The club had gotten much more crowded during their stint in Crowley's office. Between the loud music, the enthusiastic shouting by the hell hound pit and the people watching the cage fights, it was any wonder Dean could hear himself think. The noise was muted only slightly as they descended the stairwells to the main floor.

Sam peered out first. "Okay, it's clear," he announced, and gestured for Dean to follow. They hurried down the stretch of corridor running the perimeter. Here it was mostly populated by small tables and a few patrons who lingered to watch the multiple televisions hanging on the wall. Once they reached the other side- it was considerably less crowded here- they ducked into the last stairwell on the floor.

At seeing Sam start to go up the one he knew led to Cas's dressing room, Dean held out a restraining hand. "Wait up, Sam," he said.

Sam turned to look at him. "What? Dean, we need to talk to him now."

"You _do_ realize what the hell he's doing don't you?" he asked somewhat crossly. "You think I wanna walk in on that?"

Sam considered his argument, nodded. "Right. Got any ideas about Michael?"

"Only one I got is the holy oil. But..." he trailed off with a helpless gesture toward the stairs.

"It's in Cas's room," Sam supplied. He folded his arms, looked at the floor as he thought. "Hmm. I know he takes breaks between clients but I don't know the times."

"How about when his shift is over? Do you know that?"

"After the play usually, if he doesn't have anyone booked afterward."

"Well, let's hope no one wants any overtime with him," Dean remarked, glancing back at the stairs. "And there's Crowley, too. Place is already crawling with his goons; just gonna get worse when he finds out we're gone."

Sam was silent for a few moments, then gave a little smile. "That depends."

"On what? Whoa, don't even think about trying to ice him," Dean warned with a frown. "Four gallons didn't work against Lucifer, and you'd have to drink this play dry to even stand up to Crowley."

At seeing the flash of guilt pass across Sam's face Dean regretted his choice of words. But Sam shook it off and said, "I wasn't going to suggest demon blood, Dean. I have a better idea."

"Yeah? What's that?"

Sam emerged from the doorway and pointed at the upper tier. "Crowley always watches the play from the VIP box. I can get up there and make a devil's trap."

Dean was nodding. "I like it," he approved with a smile and clap on Sam's shoulder. "You take care of him, I'll get the holy oil and Cas. If we're lucky, Gabriel will be back."

Hope entered Sam's gaze as he nodded. "When you get Cas meet me backstage."

"You got it. Sammy," he called just as Sam went to walk away. His throat tightened, and he pushed back the inexplicable sense of dread. "Be careful."

Sam smiled, softly. "You, too." After another moment he darted out of sight.

Once he had gone Dean glanced up the stairs, sighed and ascended, all the while hoping there was some kind of a system in place to let would-be visitors know Cas was otherwise indisposed. This place was already going to leave a big enough mark on his memory as it was.


	16. Chapter 16

Michael sat with Raphael and the other angels in a private box overlooking the main floor. They had retreated there once the denizens of the club became too numerous. The air was, as Raphael put it, much cleaner up here. Michael had to agree on this assessment. He also found it uneasy how willingly the humans gave in to sin here. After he set all to rights in Heaven, he would once again focus his efforts on shepherding the flock. Hell had reigned over Earth for far too long.

A demon entered from a side doorway with refreshments. Though Michael felt no inclination to eat or drink, he entertained the possibility for appearance's sake. Yet when the demon set down some cold bottles of draft beer, he was curiously compelled to take one.

"How much longer must we wait?" Raphael complained after the demon left. He sat back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, hands folded at his lap. "The corruption here is an affront to us all."

"I have given my word to Crowley," Michael informed him calmly. "I do not intend to go back on it."

"And are you so certain he will agree to our terms?" Raphael asked, flicking a speck of dust from his pant leg.

"He is self-serving enough to understand keeping Castiel and the others here is not in his best interests."

"Do you still plan to allow this establishment to remain?"

"Yes," Michael answered. "It will be under close supervision, of course. I can do nothing for the souls Castiel has already condemned to Hell, but we will look out for the rest. They will not fall into sin."

Raphael grunted. "Preventing a human from giving in to sin is far more difficult than tempting one. Sin has even tested the strength of angels," he added with disdain.

"Which is why we must remain ever vigilant." Michael gestured to two of the angels seated with them. They nodded and vanished.

"Where have you sent them?"

"All of our kin have been accounted for save Gabriel and Balthazar. I am ensuring that they will not be able to leave once they are found," he explained.

"Gabriel," Raphael repeated with a sneer. "You should have had him dragged back to Heaven and locked away like Lucifer. He was at your mercy."

"Precisely. He was at _my _mercy," he reminded him.

Raphael leaned forward. "Michael-"

"Enough," he interrupted. "You worry too much, brother. Everything is going according to my design. We will return to Heaven as a family once again."

After Raphael had fallen silent Michael gazed down at the darkened stage. It was his chosen battlefield for announcing a new era, not just for Heaven and Hell but humanity as a whole. But first he needed to make an example. Castiel's blood- and Sam Winchester's, for that matter- would pave the way for the new world order.

His right hand abruptly curled into a fist. The action was so startling Michael was glad Raphael had not seen. As he forced his hand open, having to apply more control than usual, he glimpsed his distorted reflection on the beer bottle. Saw the anger and determination shining from eyes that were not his.

_If you hurt either of them I will kill you. You hear me, you flying ass monkey? I will _kill _you._

Michael's lip curled as he exerted his will over Dean Winchester. It took longer than he would have liked, but eventually the soul was quieted. The archangel studied his reflection, just to be sure, before setting the bottle aside. He flexed his hands, slowly.

The sooner he did away with Castiel the better it would be, for all of them.

* * *

Dean sat on the top stair, his back to the door leading to Cas's dressing room. So far the music had blocked out things he didn't want to hear, but it did nothing for his mood. He was impatient for them to finish the job. He wanted- _needed_- to get back to the real Purgatory. Castiel was still alone in that place. Benny too, though Dean's concern for him wasn't the same. The vampire had been there for who knows how long; if he hadn't been taken out then, he wasn't going down now.

So Dean had no choice but to turn his thoughts back to the club Purgatory. He'd seen some crazy things over the years, and none of them held a candle to this place. It was going to make one hell of a story. All he needed was the end.

"What a surprise to find you here," remarked a voice behind Dean.

He was on his feet in an instant, the angel blade in hand.

Balthazar lifted an amused brow. "Nice to see you're prepared."

Dean scowled. "What the hell do you want?" he asked, putting the blade away.

The look the angel sent him was one of shock. "Believe it or not, Dean, I'm not looking for a fight with you. I'm here to help, just as I promised."

Though he trusted him about as far as he could throw him, Dean took a step back. "So? How are you going to help?"

"Michael's posted angels all over the place. He's looking to keep us in here. So I thought I'd make them all go away," he explained, patting his pocket.

Dean could see something bulging from it, remembered the salt he had tried to use on him when he first arrived. "Wait, you can't do that," he protested. "That thing will hurt all the regular people too."

Balthazar just stared at him. "And?"

"And I'm not going to let you do it," Dean countered roughly. "You wanna take care of the angels? Banish them."

"And banish myself in the process. Yes, I can see how that would work," Balthazar drawled.

"Cas did that once before and was fine," Dean told him, choosing to omit the small fact that immediately afterward Cas lost his mojo. Hell maybe Balthazar losing his might improve his humility.

To this he rolled his eyes. "Fine," he conceded. "I'll take another page from Cas's book. Can't see the harm in it," he added with a little shrug. As Dean sat back on the stair the angel gestured toward the door. "Have you seen him yet?"

"No. Just waiting on him to be...done," he grumbled, turning away.

He felt Balthazar's eyes on him, could almost see his smile. "And waiting was never your strong suit was it? Although I hear very differently when it comes to matters in-"

"If you say bedroom, so help me-" Dean threatened, glowering over at him.

Balthazar smiled again. "I was going to say hunting. Really, Dean, you've been tense this whole time. Maybe Cas _should_ help relax you."

"Look, you ass- I got enough of that shit from Gabriel. I don't need it from you too," Dean snapped.

The humorous smile faded. "Gabriel hasn't come back yet?"

Dean turned away again and ran his hand down the length of this face, sighed irritably. "No. Nice job on breaking the horn, by the way," he complained.

"Don't worry. He'll have no trouble finding the pieces. Well," he commented, sighing as if he was disappointed. "As much as I'd _love_ to keep you company up here, I've got business to attend to. Tell Cas I'll be ready." With that he vanished in a rush of wings.

Dean sighed again, glad he was gone and resumed waiting in silence.

The sound of the door opening startled him from a doze. Bleary eyed, Dean turned round in time to see a woman emerge, a bag at her shoulder, her shoes in her hand. At seeing him she flashed a smile that indicated she liked what she saw as she headed for the stairs.

"First time?" she asked.

Dean didn't know what to say to this, so he just stared. "Uh..."

"Oh, it's wonderful," she enthused, patting his shoulder gently. "You will never, ever have a better experience, or a better lover."

Dean knew his expression was becoming more and more anxious, and he forced a smile. "Right. Thanks."

The woman smiled again, squeezed his upper arm in farewell and started down the stairs. Dean watched her go, blew out a long breath. The sooner he got out of this place the better.

At hearing the sound of another voice at the bottom of the stairwell, Dean jumped up and hurried to Cas's room. When he slipped inside and closed the door, he didn't see Cas anywhere. He called his name once, twice. After a moment Cas appeared, a robe loosely tied at his waist. Other than the lipstick marks on his cheek and neck, the tousled hair, he looked perfectly calm.

His face brightened at seeing Dean. "Has Gabriel returned yet?"

"No. Are you, uh, done for the night? We gotta talk," he informed him.

Castiel was about to answer, but the sound of a knock at the door interrupted them. Dean jumped at the sound; when Cas gestured toward the bathroom Dean acknowledged him and darted out of sight. He pressed himself to the wall, listening as Cas conversed with the visitor. After some moments Cas appeared in the doorway.

"Well?" Dean prompted.

"The play will be starting soon. What did you want to tell me?"

Dean took in Cas's appearance, managed a tiny laugh. He hoped it didn't sound as nervous to Cas as it did to him. "Um. Do you think you could...?"

Realization entered Cas's gaze, and he nodded. "Yes, of course. I will dress."

"Good idea," he agreed. With that he quickly retreated into the other room to let Cas use the bathroom. The water started running soon after. Once he found the jug of holy oil he flopped onto the couch, leaned his head back. Dammit. He'd been here so long the place was affecting him.

The bathroom door opened a short time later, a cloud of steam preceding Castiel's arrival. He had put on the familiar suit and trench coat, allowing Dean to relax. _Focus, man. Focus._

"What did you want to tell me?" he asked as he sat beside him. He listened in silence while Dean explained about Crowley nabbing him, Sam's preparing a devil's trap, Balthazar's plans. But when he mentioned Michael participating in the play Cas's face paled a little, and he quickly looked away.

Dean was instantly alert. "What's wrong? Hey, don't back out now, Cas. We're going to finish this."

"I understand." Cas drew in a deep breath. "Michael...he came to see me just before my shift started."

Dean frowned. "What the hell for?"

"To intimidate me, I suppose. I'll be fine," he assured him. "I want us both trapped in the circle. He will not be able to hurt me."

Dean nodded. At least he wouldn't have to worry about Cas exploding with the snap of Michael's fingers. The memory of Lucifer doing that to the angel he knew still had the power to send his heart into his stomach. "Got any idea what you'll do next?"

"Yes. I know how I can reach him."

After a moment's thought Dean's face softened. He swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat. "The bond."

Cas nodded. His expression turned thoughtful, his tone quiet. "I believe it still exists."

"Believe?" Dean echoed. "You think it's gone?"

"It's difficult to say. Back before the Apocalypse, I could hear you- him- call for me no matter how much distance was between us. But after Michael claimed him as his vessel, and I surrendered half my Grace to Crowley, I couldn't hear him anymore. And I...I've forgotten what it looks like."

Dean furrowed his brow. "It?"

Castiel met his eyes. The world seemed to shrink in on itself as Dean was drawn in by that mesmerizing gaze. Remembered all the other times he'd been looked at like that. His heart twisted with pain.

At recognizing this Cas's face reflected sorrow, and he looked away. "Dean's soul," he murmured. "I used to see it so clearly. I think that if I can remember its glow, I will find him again."

Dean wasn't going to pretend he knew the first thing about seeing souls. This was something he and his Castiel (_his?_) had never discussed. It, much like a lot of things between them, remained under the surface, always there but yet to be acknowledged. Knowing it was the complete opposite with this reality's Castiel and Dean made him feel more than a little envious.

It took him a moment to find his voice. "I guess you can't see it in Michael."

Cas shook his head. "No. And yours is not the same," he said before Dean could suggest otherwise. "My bond is not with you."

Dean leaned back, tapped his fingers on his knee. "So how will you use it if you can't remember what it looks like?"

"I will try to weaken him first," Cas explained. "Despite what Michael said to me, I believe Dean is still there."

Dean hated to ask, but someone had to play devil's advocate. "And if weakening him doesn't work?"

Castiel lowered his gaze. "He could kill me," he murmured. "Even with the holy fire circling us, he could still do it."

This didn't sit so well with Dean. "You're okay with dying?"

"Yes." The answer came so readily, and Dean's fist clenched in response. Just like the Castiel he knew.

"The important thing is for Gabriel to use the horn," Can went on. "It won't matter if I'm dead then; our plan will have worked."

"Plan. Right." Dean snorted. The smile that tugged at his lips was bitter. "That's how it is, huh? Even if you get through to him, it's all going to hell anyway. What do you _really_ want to happen, Cas?" he asked, looking over at him.

The question seemed to confuse him. "I don't understand."

Restless now, Dean shot to his feet. He started to pace in front of the couch. His thoughts seemed to come apart, fueled by an emotion he couldn't identify. "What if you didn't go through with the horn plan? You get Dean back, Sam gets him back, and you all can take this place down like _normal _hunters. You can't tell me it's not what you want."

During this passionate recital, Cas's face had gone pale. His mouth opened, very slightly, and he glanced away. Dean watched him wring his hands together. "What I want doesn't matter."

"Bullshit," Dean snapped.

The angel lifted his gaze to him. "What do you want me to say?" he asked, spreading his hands in a helpless gesture. Remorse now shone in his eyes. "Of course it's not what I want. It's what I have to accept."

"Humor me then," he demanded. "Come on, Cas- I gotta believe that there's a chance for happiness for _one_ of us."

The instant he said this he instantly regretted it. He hadn't meant to make the comparison. He didn't want to admit that so many things had yet to be resolved between him and the Castiel he knew.

Cas studied him for a time. Dean could read sympathetic understanding in his eyes, knew that if he was asked, he'd deflect the questions simply because he had no answers. And it hurt as much as not knowing if his friend was still alive.

A tap on the door. "Twenty minutes, Castiel."

Cas responded to the voice as he rose to his feet. Dean could still see the questions in his eyes, but he just nodded slowly. "We should both head for the stage. Give me the holy oil," he requested.

Dean hesitated for just a moment- he was basically handing Cas the means to cage himself- felt regret at the necessity of it and passed it over. Cas's fingers curled over the top to gently pull it from his grasp.

Their eyes locked. As he tucked the bottle against his side Dean was reminded of Castiel's stony expression in other instances. Knew that no matter what he said, or what Cas really felt, he would not turn from this course. He could do no less.

He smiled then, slightly. "You ready to bring the house down?"

Cas regarded him curiously. "What we're doing doesn't require the dismantling of the club."

The typical Cas answer exasperated as much as it amused. He gave a little disbelieving laugh. "You can't tell me that after all this time with humans, you haven't heard anyone say that before."

Cas considered his answer. "No. I'm still having some difficulty understanding why breaking a leg before a show is a good thing."

Dean chuckled. "I never got that either," he admitted. He studied Cas's face for a moment to gauge his readiness. "All right. Let's do it."

Castiel nodded and touched his shoulder. As the dressing room transformed into the area backstage, Dean realized that he was right not to tell Cas about the letter. This was it. Nothing could distract them now.

It just didn't make him feel any better.


	17. Chapter 17

The night's entertainment was in full swing when Dean and Castiel reappeared backstage. Loud music clashed with the noise of the crowd; whereas Dean winced at the sounds, Cas didn't show the slightest bit of discomfort as he made his way down the empty corridor. As they neared the front of the stage, Dean saw props had been arranged to show a background of a place he knew well: Stull Cemetery. He frowned. He didn't remember seeing them before.

Castiel crossed over to the center of the stage. He glanced at the floor, nodded to himself as he turned. "Dean," he called. He extended the jug to him when Dean joined his side. "I need you to surround me. Make the circle wide enough for two."

He bowed his head. Cas remained frozen in place as Dean made a slow circuit around him, the sound of the oil striking the floor unusually loud despite the outside noise. The steady stream had turned to droplets by the time he was done. The empty jug only served to remind him that this was it.

"Excellent," Castiel approved. He carefully stepped over the border- Dean noticed he chose to exit right by he stood, indicating that Cas had lost sight of the oil- and turned to him. "Do you still have the lighter?"

"Huh? Oh, right," Dean said, shoving his hand in his pocket. As he presented the golden Zippo he noticed the watch at Cas's wrist. At recognizing it as the same brand he wore, his approving smile fled the instant he saw the brief flash of pain in Cas's eyes. Deciding to let the matter drop, he clapped his hands, looked around. "This is it then, huh? The big showdown."

"Yes. You should hide yourself somewhere soon. I don't want him to see you."

"Yeah. Take this," he said, pulling the angel blade from his jacket. "I didn't see that you had one. Never hurts to be too careful," he added. Another, uneasy pause passed as Cas tucked the blade out of sight. Dean was suddenly reminded of how he felt the night in Detroit and forced another smile. "Well. Good luck. Break a leg I mean. Don't do anything too crazy," he advised lamely, knew it was lame and didn't care.

"Dean."

The sound of his name checked him in mid-turn. He glanced over at Cas, found the angel watching him as intently as ever. After a moment he extended his hand. Dean gripped it without a second thought.

Cas was nodding. "I wanted to thank you again for all you've done for me," he began. There was a little tremor of emotion in his voice, causing Dean to swallow past the lump in his throat. "I wish you the best of luck in finding your Castiel. And when you see him, tell him the truth, Dean. Tell him you need him."

Everything around them seemed to shrink in on itself, go mute, as the power behind Castiel's simple request sank into Dean's heart. Unable to find his voice to answer, he only nodded. Cas smiled, very softly, placed his hand over their joined ones. They remained like that for a moment before Dean managed another smile and nod, and turned away. He didn't look back.

* * *

Castiel watched Dean slip into the shadows, bowed his head and sighed. After a time he wrapped his hand around the watch, tightly. He closed his eyes.

_I will be seeing you soon, Dean. I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long._

* * *

While Dean didn't worry too much about being seen by the angels- he hadn't spotted any after he left Cas- demons were a different story. After ducking past the third one backstage alone, Dean knew Crowley must have discovered they had gotten loose. Now he was sending his goons to track them down. Frowning, he wondered where the hell that storeroom was. And Sam, for that matter. He peered through the heavy curtains, saw Crowley's VIP box. There was no sign of the King of Hell, his lackeys or his brother.

_Come on, Sam- where the hell are you?_

Suddenly someone grabbed the back of Dean's collar and dragged him forward. He was soon face to face with a black-eyed bastard, who flashed a broad, sinister smile.

"Well, well," he began, chuckling. "Time to go back to your cage, Winchester. Mr. Crowley still has use for you."

Dean, cursing his lack of a reliable weapon, chose brute force instead. He stomped on the demon's foot with as much strength as he could summon; it was enough to loosen the demon's hold on his shoulders. An arm free, Dean swung at his would-be captor. When his fist connected with the demon's cheek it caused his head to snap to the side. A sharp pain shot down the entire length of his arm, forcing Dean to cup his knuckles as he put some distance between them. The demon looked back at Dean, grinned again and gestured.

An invisible force sent him crashing through a set piece. As he struggled to get his bearings, the demon was on him, hands locked around his throat. Dean shoved against the demon's face, grunting, gasping, as he fought to get the bastard off. He could see darkness creeping along the edges of his perception.

A blade abruptly pierced the demon's throat, spraying droplets of blood onto Dean's face. The demon gave a pained, guttural sound and slumped over. Dean looked up, and a wave of relief washed over him.

"Sam," he gasped, accepting his brother's hand. Sam pulled him to his feet effortlessly. "Thanks, man."

"What happened?" Sam asked worriedly. "Where's your angel blade?"

Dean wiped the blood from his face. He had a feeling all he did was smear it, didn't particularly care. "I gave it to Cas. Figured he'd need it more than me. What about you? Did you do it?"

"Yeah, barely," Sam responded with a frown. "Crowley's got his demons hunting us down like crazy. I had to take a few out. We can't leave him there," he said, indicating the dead demon.

"Got a hiding spot?"

"Yeah. Come on."

After the brothers stashed the body, and they raided the storeroom for another angel blade for Dean, the two set out to look for a good vantage point to watch the show. They avoided Crowley's demons for the most part, though there were a few they had to take down to maintain secrecy.

"Anything from Gabriel?" Dean asked, closing the door on the bodies they had hidden.

"Nothing yet. I've tried calling for him but he hasn't answered."

"Yeah, I know how that is," Dean remarked with a little smile. "Wait a second," he said, turning to look up at his brother. "Doesn't Gabriel do the play too? What happens if it's showtime and he's not here?"

Sam's face paled slightly. After a moment he shook off his concern. "He'll be here," he told him, though Dean wasn't sure if Sam said it to convince him, or himself. He also knew what it was like to worry about a missing angel- especially when the whole plan hinged on his being here. "We can't give up on him, Dean."

"I'm not giving up on him, I just need him to hurry the hell up," Dean answered crossly. The echo of the orchestra warming up sounded outside. He stepped closer to the curtain to peer through. At seeing the flood of people headed their way he exchanged glances with Sam, saw the realization in his eyes.

Sam was nodding. "He'll be here," he repeated.

The seats began to fill. The orchestra strummed a tune that sounded a lot like the Devil Went Down to Georgia. Dean glanced at the upper tier, saw the box seats had also started filling. Crowley himself stood there, glass in hand as he watched the action below. Dean smiled, wished he could see Crowley's face when he realized he'd be walking right into a trap, and looked back at Sam.

Sam was pacing now. He flexed his hand along the handle of the blade. "Come on, Gabe," he murmured to himself. There was a world of hope in the word.

"Sam Winchester."

At the sound of a deep, baritone voice Sam spun round. Dean barely realized none other than Raphael stood across from them before Sam roughly shoved him behind some scenery. He bit back a curse as he watched the scene from around the corner. Great. Just great. Like they didn't have enough problems.

Sam was tense as Raphael approached him. Dean saw his brother's hand tighten on the blade.

"What do you want?" he asked in low tones.

Raphael was smiling. "You were once called upon to play a part my father scripted for you. In light of recent events, you are to undergo the role once more."

While Dean frowned at what the ninja angel was referring to, Sam stiffened.

"No," he rasped. "What did you do with Gabriel?" The emotional inflection on Gabriel's name was undeniable. It echoed of every instance Dean thought Cas was in danger or hurt. Hearing it in Sam's voice was twice as bad, and he wanted to stab Raphael in the neck for upsetting his brother.

"What we had to. Now, come along," Raphael said, gesturing toward the stage. He was still smiling, easy, amused. "It's nearly time for the curtain to rise."

Sam hesitated; Dean could tell he was resisting the urge to look in his direction. When he gave a short nod and started off, Dean glimpsed Raphael's smug smile widen before he fell into step behind him. Alone now, Dean drove his fist against the wall.

"Son of a bitch," he grumbled, and emerged from his hiding place. He found a dark corner that was out of the way of passing employees, but afforded him a nice view of the stage. An angel relieved Sam of the blade in his hand just as none other than Michael approached him. Sam stood as still as a statue. Castiel was also there, his posture just as stiff as Sam's. Dean gritted his teeth, hating his helplessness.

_I don't know if you can hear me, Gabriel, but if you don't get your ass back here soon we're all screwed._

* * *

Upon seeing Sam on stage, an angel to either side of him, Castiel chastised himself for not expecting this move. Without Gabriel to assume the dual roles of Lucifer and Michael, the archangel had gone with the real thing. The last thing Cas wanted to do was place Sam in danger. He met Sam's eyes, tried to reassure him with a little nod. But Sam just stared past him. There was something in his face that worried Cas; at seeing where his gaze rested, he had the horrible feeling that Michael had done something to Gabriel. The tremor of panic that shook his heart was quickly repressed. He had to stay focused.

Michael signaled for the angels to escort Sam closer. Cas couldn't be sure if he was also in the circle of holy oil or not. His one consolation was that if he was, he could jump over the flames without fear.

"Sam," Michael greeted cordially. He tilted his head, studying him. "I see you have recovered well from Lucifer's taint. Though there is still a darkness about you. It seems Gabriel has not been able to eradicate it completely."

Sam's throat flashed at Gabriel's name, but he kept his peace.

"You are no doubt as well-versed in this play as Castiel," Michael continued. "I expect you to respond to the cues you are given. We are charged with giving this audience a memorable experience. I do not intend to disappoint."

At this Sam smiled, faintly. "And if I say no?"

Michael considered this. "Then I will see to it the suffering you experienced while under Lucifer's influence will be nothing compared to what _I_ arrange for you. You are an abomination, Sam Winchester. I do not promise mercy."

Sam's face paled, very slightly. Castiel knew that Lucifer had not been kind to him, and despised Michael all the more threatening him.

Michael, apparently satisfied he had succeeded in convincing Sam to participate, turned to address Raphael. "Inform Crowley I am ready to begin."

The look in Raphael's eyes indicated pleasure, and he vanished. The other angels drifted to the opposite corners of the stage. Cas knew they were boxed in now.

Suddenly Sam rushed toward Michael and grabbed him by the shoulders. He spun him around with one, swift movement. His eyes and face expressed desperation, panic. "Dean!" he cried. "Dean, it's me! I know you're in there- fight him! I know you can do it! You-"

Michael thrust Sam from him as if he were tainted. As surprising as this was, it was doubly so at the expression of rage in Michael's eyes. In all the years Cas had known him, he had never once seen Michael look like that.

As Sam hit the floor and was subsequently seized by the two angels there, Castiel's gaze was then drawn to the sudden glow that emanated from within Michael. His breath caught in his throat.

He knew that light.

_Dean!_

"No," Michael said when an angel went to strike Sam. His voice was rough. "Leave him to me." When the angels obliged him the archangel sent Sam a piercing look. "Be ready to begin," he warned, and started for the side of the stage Cas occupied.

His resolve strengthened by the sight of that faint glow, Cas slid his hand into his pocket and palmed the Zippo. He met Sam's gaze, gave a slight nod. Though his chest heaved and his face expressed rage, he responded to Cas's nod with one of his own. When the orchestra struck up the opening tune, and the curtains slowly drew back, Castiel prepared himself for battle.

* * *

Crowley hadn't questioned why Michael wanted to participate in the play. His thoughts had been on other, more pressing matters. But after his ace in the hole managed to escape and he was forced to turn his own place inside out to find them, he began to suspect something was amiss. This nagging suspicion had only grown with every passing moment. It was at its breaking point by the time he strode inside his VIP box and sat down. He stared down at the stage, drumming his fingers on the arm rest. He had been in the business long enough to know when betrayal was at hand.

He signaled for one of his boys. "Barricade the doors. I want angel wards on every wall," he ordered.

The demon looked at him curiously. "Sir? Is that wise?"

"When I want your opinion I'll ask for it, you moron," Crowley responded in a warning tone. The demon relented and stepped back.

The play had started. So far so good. But it was the sense that the demon hadn't left yet that drew Crowley's attention.

"What?"

The demon, who had been looking up, swallowed nervously. "Sir, I think you might want to see this."

As Crowley lifted his head to see the devil's trap on the ceiling, he scowled. At peek beneath his footrest showed another.

A full moment passed. The other demons present looked at one another anxiously. Left with little else to do but wait, Crowley, King of Hell, gave a rueful shake of the head, leaned back and rested his chin in his hand.

Leave it to a Winchester to foil a perfectly diabolical plan.

* * *

Dean watched the play with an increasing amount of concern. So far things were going by rote; the audience tittered at the comedic bits, the lines were delivered with the same amount of overly done drama, and hell, Sam made one damn convincing Lucifer. But Dean couldn't shake that something was wrong. His whole body had tensed, as if he expected a knife in his back- or in his heart. Every time Cas got near Michael he silently urged the angel to light the fire, light it _now _so Sam could have a chance to get away. He'd heard every word Michael said to his brother, and he'd be damned if that son of a bitch hurt him.

And just where the hell was Gabriel anyway? Did Balthazar send the pieces into outer space or what?

A deep chord sounded from the orchestra. Sam had fallen to his knees in front of Michael, as expected. Michael stood over him, one hand gripping Sam's collar. He delivered the line, and the audience held its breath. Cas lay on the floor directly behind Michael, also as expected. But as Dean shifted his gaze from Michael back to Cas, he saw he had risen to a knee. The audience didn't seem to notice.

"Do it, Cas," he murmured, watching Cas reach inside his pocket. Dean's attention went back to Michael and Sam, his heart thudding in his chest. There was something in Michael's eyes he didn't like. When he realized the archangel had every intention of hurting Sam his hand tightened on the curtain. "_Now_, Cas," he said, louder this time. Michael's arm was drawing back, fingers curling into a fist.

Things slowed down then.

Michael's face was stone cold as he thrust his hand forward. Sam's upper body caved, shoulders hunching at the blow. Castiel shot to his feet, had the Zippo in one hand, the angel blade in the other. He lit it, let it drop. In the time it took for the Zippo to land on the ground, Michael's hand exploded out of Sam's back. Blood dripped down from his clenched fist to pool behind them.

Dean's eyes widened, his heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. The roar of the fire, the resulting screams of shock and dismay from the audience, did nothing to drown out the anguished cry that tore from his throat.

"_SAM!"_

* * *

Castiel, standing behind Michael now, angel blade in hand and surrounded by a ring of fire, was well aware of the chaos that had erupted. The crowd now dispersed in droves, their panicked screams echoing all throughout. He could hear clashes of battle as demons and angels went at each other. But when Michael wrenched his hand free from the hole he had made in Sam's chest, and the younger Winchester slumped limply to the floor, everything else around them faded.

"Michael!" Castiel rasped. He held the blade out, challenging him.

Michael sent Sam careening for the far edge of the stage before he slowly rose to his feet and turned. Blood dripped off his hand. He regarded Castiel's offensive stance with something resembling pity, or amusement.

"Castiel." He drew out his name, each syllable dripping with contempt. "You dare use holy fire against your elder brother?"

Cas pushed back his fear. He couldn't stop thinking about Sam, about what he needed to do. "That's enough, Michael," he told him sharply. "Restore Sam Winchester and leave Dean's body!"

Michael laughed disbelievingly. "You still don't understand what I am doing here," he said, shaking his head. "This is our father's design! I had to destroy Lucifer's vessel. And now I will see to your punishment."

Castiel readied the blade, but Michael was suddenly upon him. Michael easily disarmed him with a single blow. Next his hand was at Cas's throat. He forced the other angel to his knees. There he used the butt of the angel blade to strike his face, over and over. Each successive hit sent vibrations through Castiel's body, splintered his vision, rattled his thoughts. But somehow he managed to grab onto Michael's sleeve. Turned his mind away from the pain as he sought that light he knew so well.

Michael's arm suddenly froze in mid-swing. Cas, blinking up at him through bloodied eyes, saw the internal struggle etch itself onto Michael's face. His teeth clenched as he tried to force his arm down. The glow Cas had seen ever so briefly before flashed just a little brighter now. When his hand opened to drop the blade, Cas's other hand shot out to catch it. He had it turned in a split second and, shooting to his feet, he slashed at Michael's left shoulder. Shreds of clothing and blood clung to Cas's blade. Michael cried out in shock as he was forced backward. He went to cover his wound- but not before Cas glimpsed the faint outline of the mark he set on Dean's soul all those years ago.

Castiel wasted no time. Sprinting forward, he seized Michael by the upper arm with his left hand and laid his right over the other's shoulder. He could feel the warmth of bare skin beneath his palm, felt it grow ever warmer in the light of his Grace. And yet something far more powerful lay under the surface, more powerful than an angel, a demon or even a god. It was the burning heat of a human soul.

Cas stared up at Michael's face, his hand tightening over the other's shoulder. The look of absolute shock in the angel's eyes drew a tiny, confident smile to Cas's lips. His brother might be the oldest and most powerful, but even he had underestimated the strength of the bond he shared with Dean's soul.

He started chanting in Enochian, saw recognition enter Michael's gaze at seeing Cas intended on exorcizing him from Dean's body. He finished the chant, drew in a deep breath. "Get out of him, you son of a bitch," he murmured darkly, and his Grace flashed.

The faint glimmer that Cas knew so well shone in response, and the spark that had been Michael's was instantly transformed to one far more brilliant. He thought he heard Michael give a faint, outraged cry.

Soon the glow receded, leaving both men breathing heavily. Castiel's hand had not moved from the other's shoulder. He searched the face before him, desperate to see if it worked, even as he feared it hadn't.

A hand slowly rose in his peripheral. Castiel couldn't help but flinch, for in those brief seconds he expected a blow.

Instead, the hand hovered by his cheek. Hesitant.

"...Cas?"

It was Dean Winchester staring down at him, a look of disbelief and astonishment on his face. Dean Winchester's voice that spoke his name. Cas had heard the other Dean say it dozens of times, but only _his _Dean said it with that kind of wonder. That kind of affection.

The gulf of years between them closed in that instant. Castiel gazed into those eyes and said, very softly:

"Hello, Dean."


	18. Chapter 18

Dean didn't care about the battle going on all around him, or the confrontation taking place between Castiel and Michael. None of it mattered the instant that son of a bitch stabbed his brother.

He scrambled to the collapsed scenery where Sam's body had landed. Dean had tears streaming down his face as he furiously tore at the debris. "Sam!" he cried, tossing a piece of board this way, a ruptured sandbag another. "Sammy, talk to me! Sam!"

Another piece was thrown aside. When Dean finally saw him he nearly fell over. He crammed his knuckles into his mouth to restrain the anguished cry that was now stuck in his throat.

Sam was sprawled on his back, blood trailing down the corners of his mouth. There was a gaping, bloodied hole in his chest where his heart should have been.

"No. Oh, God, no," Dean moaned as he took hold of Sam's shoulders and lifted him up. When his head flopped to the side Dean made a strangled sound of dismay. He gently eased him out of the debris, tried not to notice the blood still oozing from the chest wound. After drawing his brother into his arms, Dean shook his head as he smoothed the mussed hair back from Sam's brow. Tears blurred his vision. The deep ache in his chest hurt like his own heart had been torn from his body. It didn't matter that this wasn't _his_ brother Sam; Sam was Sam as far as he was concerned. His blood. His family. And now he was dead.

First there was anger- anger at Michael for doing it, anger at Cas for letting him do it, anger at himself for not being able to predict this- before the despair crushed him. Overcome, Dean laid his head atop Sam's and squeezed his eyes shut. He murmured his brother's name, over and over, with increasing desperation before he broke down.

The sound of something crashing backstage caused him to jump. As he looked around at the chaos he realized that he needed to move, fast. Grunting at the strain, still Dean managed to get his brother over his shoulders. He pushed himself to his feet, went to turn when a brilliant flash of light drew his attention. He spun on his heel in time to see the shadow of wings unfurling behind Castiel. He had gone full-on angel against Michael- and it looked like he was winning.

Cas lifted his right hand, which Dean saw was now ablaze, before he clamped it on Michael's shoulder. The force behind the touch caused Michael to stagger. As the light surrounding Cas intensified, Dean couldn't shake the feeling that this was what had happened that day in Hell. It wasn't until the backdrop started to come apart that Dean's fascination was cut short. Securing his grip on Sam, he turned and hurried off the stage.

Those that hadn't made it to the exits rushed about wildly. Those that had been caught in the crossfire lay on the floor, between seats, over them and in the aisles. As Dean bolted toward the lounge by the bar, he heard the terrified screams of those getting torn apart by hell hounds.

As soon as Dean entered the lounge he headed straight for the space behind the bar. After he carefully propped Sam up against the wall, he peered over the counter with the intent to watch the outcome of Cas and Michael's battle. But the stage was out of sight. Left with nothing to do but wait, he settled beside Sam, his arm around his brother's shoulders. His head leaned back as his eyes drifted skyward. Fresh tears formed in his eyes.

_Don't know where the hell you are right now, Gabriel, but you better get your ass back here _now_. _

* * *

Dean Winchester said nothing in response to Castiel's greeting. He had the look of a man who had just woken up from a long sleep. His eyes darted this way and that, briefly, as if he were trying to understand, remember, recognize, his surroundings. When his gaze settled back on Cas's face, there was a moment of confusion before he suddenly collapsed. Cas caught him to his chest- barely, for tethering Dean's soul had weakened him considerably- and slowly eased them both onto the floor. For an instant he cherished the feel of this man once again against him, the knowledge that when he opened his eyes he'd be _Dean _again, before he gently shook him.

"Dean," he ventured, sparing a glance for the chaos raging around them; he spotted Balthazar amidst a group of demons, the flash of an angel blade. They needed to move, fast. Sam still needed help. "Wake up, Dean!"

The skin around Dean's eyes tightened, his brow furrowed, before he gave a low groan. "What the hell..." he grumbled just as his eyes opened. He looked up at Cas, blinked a few times. Recognition entered his gaze. "Son of a bitch," he breathed, a tiny smile tugging at his lips. "Cas. You did it. It's really you."

The smile alone would have been enough, but to hear his name spoken aloud, familiar and warm, banished all the years they had been apart, broke down the barrier around his emotions. For one, wonderful instant, Castiel rediscovered the happiness that had initially brought them together, and he nodded slowly.

Dean was laughing- how long had it been since he last heard it?- as he sat up and captured Cas in a tight embrace. "Damn it's good to see you," he murmured against his ear, and Cas's eyes slid closed. He couldn't describe what it felt to see Dean again, so he just held fast to him.

The embrace lasted another moment before Dean drew back. He took in his surroundings, a brow lifting. "Mind telling me why I woke up in the middle of World War Three in a circle of holy fire?"

"Later." Cas released him, pushed himself to his feet. Dean gripped his hand tightly as he used Cas for support. It nearly pulled him back onto the ground due to how weak he was. "First we have to-"

"Wait a second," Dean interrupted. Worry creased his brow as he studied Cas's bloodied face. "What the hell happened to you?"

Cas shook his head. "It's fine," he assured him. "Sam-"

"What about him? Where is he?" Dean whirled around, looked this way and that. He called for his brother a few times before turning back to Cas. Panic had now settled across his face. "Cas, what's going on? Where is my brother?"

Regret twisted Cas's heart, and he slowly shook his head. After bringing him up to speed on events- he omitted quite a few truths for the sake of convenience- Cas finished with, "Michael attacked Sam," he explained sadly. "He didn't spare him."

Dean took a step toward him. "Didn't spare him?" he echoed sharply. "Is that your way of saying he killed him?"

"I can heal him, Dean," Castiel assured him swiftly. "I've still got enough power to do it. But we have to leave this place _now,_" he said, gesturing toward the battle tearing apart the club.

He looked around, nodded. "Right. Let's get the hell out of here," he insisted. He started for the circle of fire. "I'll find something to put the fire out and we'll get to-" Suddenly Dean doubled over, his hands gripping either side of his head.

Cas was at his side in an instant. He gripped his shoulder. "Dean!" He inspected him, thinking that it was some unseen injury causing him pain. "What's wrong?"

Dean shook his head. When he turned to face Cas, the angel saw he was breathing heavily. "I don't know. Just feels like something's grabbing me. I-" His words were lost in a strangled cry. Dean's hand shot out, grabbed hold of Cas's coat lapel so hard he actually heard the material rip.

Cas steadied him, fought against his rising panic. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. "Dean!"

"Dammit! I feel him," he panted through clenched teeth. His eyes swiftly met Cas's. "Michael- he's trying to take over-"

"That can't be," Cas replied with a frown. "I sent him back to Heaven. I- Dean!" he cried, for the other man suddenly shoved him back. He staggered, perilously close to the edge of the fire. Heat shot up his back, fluttered beneath the coat.

Dean had dropped to his knees, one hand pressed against his brow, the other balled into a fist on the floor. He was shaking all over. "Get the hell out of here, Cas," he ordered in ragged tones. "Save Sammy." His face was twisted into a mask of pain. "Go!"

"I can't," he protested. He reached for Dean, managed to hold fast to his shoulder even as he attempted to shake him off. "I'm not leaving you."

"Dammit, Cas if you don't-" he cut himself off to scream, grip his head in his hands.

Cas knelt in front of him now, both hands on his shoulders. He managed to place his palm over the red mark on Dean's shoulder. "I will send him away again," he swore, and started to speak in Enochian.

His words were cut off when Dean grabbed him by the coat lapels again. Cas stared into the other man's eyes, saw the determination behind the panic, the pain.

"You have to kill me," Dean rasped.

Cas stared. Felt his throat go dry. "What? No," he said in just above a whisper. He shook his head. "I won't do that, Dean."

Dean's hold on him tightened. "We don't have time to-" he paused to wince, took a moment to recover his composure. He was breathing harder now; when he spoke, his voice was gruff, raspy. "Kill me, Cas."

"I-"

"Just do it!" Dean shouted, and flinched as if someone struck him. Tears spilled from eyes dark with pain. "Listen to me," he gasped. His hands traveled down to rest at Cas's upper arms, but his grip remained strong. "I couldn't stop Michael from hurting Sam-" his voice broke on his brother's name- "but I'll be damned if he gets to do it to you. I'm _begging_ you, Cas." He drew in a shaking breath, and gave him a sad smile filled with regret. "I let everyone down, but I was so damn scared that day. I realized something that morning about us, I let him take me anyway because I- I didn't want to lose anyone." His face crumpled then. "I screwed up bad. I've never been any good. Now you gotta make it right, Cas. It has to be you."

The emotionally-wrought confession resonated within Cas's mind. He found he could do nothing but stare in awestruck silence. At last, he had the reason for his agreeing to Michael's proposal. The other Dean had hinted at it that night in the barn- did that meeting happen only two days ago? Events had compressed all sense of time and place, leaving him aware only of the desperation in Dean's eyes, the feel of his hands at his arms. Of facing the end of this world alone, after all he had done to return Dean to him.

Castiel swallowed, searched Dean's face. Their gazes met and held; suddenly they were back in Maine, the unspoken emotions forcing them to cross a bridge neither was certain of its strength, of their footing. Then, he had the sense that Dean had approached it without much conviction; no doubt he believed it wouldn't last. If Cas had to be honest, he was drawn not only by the sympathy he had for Dean, but curiosity. The possibility of facing the end of days had also been a factor.

Gazing into those eyes now, and with the chasm of three years standing between them, Castiel knew that Dean had just admitted he loved him without saying it. Even after all this time, Cas didn't put much stock in the phrase, 'I love you.' They were just words to him. And now that Dean had admitted to it, Cas knew that this request was his way of reconciling for his mistake. He'd save Cas, but on _his _terms. All he could do now was honor this request.

Castiel reached out to caress Dean's cheek, gently. His skin was hot to the touch, as if he were feverish. He was slightly bent over, shoulders hunched, pain etched onto his face. At seeing Cas slowly lift the angel blade, there was such relief on Dean's face Cas experienced a moment's regret that death, and not life, or the promise of their being side by side, was what made him react so.

Some moments passed. Every now and then Dean grimaced, grunted, as he continued to fight against Michael. Cas could sense his brother's presence growing ever closer, knew time was short. He laid his hand on Dean's shoulder. The words did not come easy.

"Close your eyes," he instructed softly.

It was clear Dean was having difficulty speaking. He looked ready to start sobbing. As Cas closed the distance between them Dean coiled his arms around him, held him so hard Cas was sure that if he were human, his bones would have bent at the pressure. Cas brought his left hand up, slid his fingers through Dean's hair to gently hold the back of his head. He pressed a lingering kiss on Dean's temple, readied the blade in his other hand.

Dean turned his head so his mouth was at Cas's ear. "I'm sorry, Cas," he murmured in despair. "I'm so sorry..."

Cas couldn't summon the voice to speak. He dropped his head onto Dean's shoulder, closed his eyes. The blade shook in his hand. He heard Dean murmur his name, swore he said something else but it was drowned out by a throaty cry. Cas tightened his hold on him, opened his eyes.

White light shone down on them now. Cas could see the shadow of wings as Michael descended to Earth. And there, manifesting at the doors now clogged with bodies, stood Gabriel, his horn in hand.

Castiel's lip curled as his hold on the angel blade steadied. He waited until the archangel was upon them before acting.

"No," he rasped. "Not this time, Michael," he swore, and thrust his hand forward.

The angel blade passed through Dean's chest almost too easily. A sound very like a tiny sigh passed from the body Castiel gripped to him. A shrill cry echoed from overhead. There was a moment of absolute silence before white energy exploded from around them. Bands of energy tore apart the walls, the seating area, the box seats on the upper tiers. Angels and demons caught in the blast were vaporized.

When it died down Cas released the blade handle, slowly. He registered Dean's blood on his hand, warm and sticky, as he wrapped his other arm around him, but did not feel it. In fact, Cas felt nothing. He was numb. As empty as the figure leaning against him, the arms still clutching tight as if unwilling to accept the end. And, at hearing a snapping from above, followed by the swoosh of falling debris, Castiel closed his eyes. His one regret was knowing that when he died, he would not be able to see Dean in Heaven.

* * *

It had taken longer than he would have liked, but Gabriel finally had his horn back. While he had every intention to announce the next Armageddon with it, the last thing he expected was Armageddon to start without him.

The club was in shambles. Bodies of humans, monsters, angels and demons were scattered all over. Up ahead, the catwalk had come crashing down on the stage, taking with it the curtains, scenery and lights. Flames licked at the debris there. Gabriel knew that Castiel and Michael- or Dean, depending on if his plan worked- was crushed beneath it. He spent a moment mourning their loss, then sought out the Winchester brothers. If he knew Dean, he would have done everything in his power to keep them safe. It was why he hadn't felt any misgiving about leaving Sam so soon after he let him use his soul to heal. Despite their plans, it never occurred to Gabriel that he'd be ringing in this party alone.

However, as he neared the lounge by the bar, and saw Dean Winchester kneeling beside Sam, he realized just how wrong he had been.

Gabriel knew the truth before Dean managed to say it aloud. It wasn't the way Sam sagged against his brother, the dip of his head, or the ugly wound on his chest. No, not even the anguish in Dean's eyes when he spotted his approach. It was the absence of the dusky glow of Sam's soul- darkened in places due to the demon blood, red from the damage Lucifer had caused- that told him everything.

"It's about damn time!" Dean snapped when Gabriel stood over them. "What the hell took you so long? Never mind," he amended with a sharp gesture. "Well? Do your thing! Bring Sammy back!"

Gabriel gazed down at Sam in silence. Though he knew the soul was long gone, he still had the impression Sam was merely asleep. He smiled wanly. He'd spent too much time around humans.

"Hey!" Dean's ragged voice cut into Gabriel's thoughts. "Didn't you hear me? You can't leave him like this!"

Gabriel went to a knee. His gaze remained on Sam. "I heard you," he answered quietly. "And no."

"No?" Dean repeated, incredulous. "What the hell do you mean no? It's Sam!" he stressed.

"I know." Gabriel studied Sam's profile, partially hidden by his hair.

"So you gotta bring him back. You can't sit there and tell me you want him to stay dead, not after all you did to keep him alive!"

This drew a warning glance from the archangel. "Listen to me very carefully, Dean," he began in a low voice. "I know exactly who your brother is and what he means to us." He offered him a little smile. "But your part in this is over now," he said, and snapped his fingers.

A column of light shone down on Dean. He looked up sharply, panic and worry in his eyes. "Wait, Gabriel! What the hell happens now?"

"You go home. Have a beer, get laid- whatever," he added with a careless shrug. "You won't have much memory of this place. Me? I still have to clean up here. Catch you later."

Dean glanced worriedly at Sam before sending Gabriel a look of appeal, but his words were lost as the light stole him from view.

Alone now, Gabriel smiled, very softly, at Sam as he pressed his palm to his chest. He restored the flesh but not the soul- Sam was in a better place, after all- then settled beside him. Once he had arranged Sam across his lap, his head turned toward him, Gabriel let himself remember all the fun they had over the past three years, lamented that it was now at an end.

His hand glided, gently, across the top of Sam's head. "See you on the other side, kiddo," he murmured, and lifted the horn to his lips. There was a blast of sound, a burst of white light, before everything went black and silent.

* * *

Black was the first thing Dean saw when he found himself lying on his back beneath a tree. The heat and stench of Purgatory came crashing down on him, making him gag. Coughing, he forced himself onto his side, his head bowed as he waited for the spasms to pass. What the hell happened? He ached all over.

There was the sound of rapid footsteps, followed by a low growl. Dean automatically shifted into defensive mode, his head lifting in time to see a shadowed figure come tearing right for him. His hand sought and found the blade lying hidden in the leaves- how he knew it was there didn't concern him. The next instant he was on his feet, the blade swinging out in a wide arc. There was the sharp catch of it digging into a body, a pained sound that was half growl, half scream, before he latched onto the figure's shoulder and swung them both round. Dean thrust his enemy at the tree, hard. The monster slammed against it with another grunt of pain before sliding to the ground.

"Dean!" shouted an accented voice behind him- Benny. Dean turned just as the vampire reached his side. "Damn, I thought I lost you back there," he began with a shake of the head. "Shoulda known better than to think anything here can get the jump on you."

To this Dean gave a short nod. Gone was the confusion, the momentary light-headed feeling. The quick attack, counter attack, had reorganized his thoughts. Focused now, he rolled his shoulders, gestured toward the moaning monster curled up on the ground. "Time for a little chat with the mutt."

Benny secured the monster to the tree with some chains he found on the ground. Dean let the vampire question him first, but after a few unsuccessful attempts he strode away. "I don't think he knows," he muttered.

Dean didn't buy it. He just smiled, flexed his hand on the blade handle. He had learned a thing or two about getting information. Especially information of this magnitude.

Three days later, it turned out that the mutt's directions were right. As Dean approached the clearing, and he spotted the figure kneeling by the water's edge, he briefly hesitated. After so many days and nights of searching, of hoping, had he finally found him?

"Cas?" he called.

There was a moment's pause before the figure rose to his feet and turned. Dean took in the dirty, tattered trench coat, soiled uniform he had worn while in the psych hospital, the grime clinging to his face, hair and beard. But it was the look of sheer astonishment that shook Dean from his temporary paralysis.

It was the look of a man who never in a million years expected to see a long lost friend.

Dean felt a smile, a real smile, tug at his lips as he approached the angel. He had him in his arms without a second thought. As he patted the angel's back, roughly, his joy turned to heartfelt relief. It permeated his entire being to kick away the doubt and fear that had held firm to him for months.

Finally, after all this time...he'd found him.

_Castiel._

He had no idea where they'd go from here, or how they'd do it, but one thing he did know for certain was that they'd do it together.

As it should be.

* * *

_Author's Note:_

_Thank you one and all for your follows, faves and reviews! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much I enjoyed writing it. :)_


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